ky^ 


1(1181  Bt'i' jiHir'u* 


i 


LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

MRS.    ALFRED  W.     INGALLS 


..•y 


■iT' 


Love  Among   the  Artists 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  ARTISTS 
BY  GEORGE  BERNARD  SHAW 


BRENTANO'S   NEW  YORK 
MCMX 


COPYRIGHT,    190O'    ^^ 
HERBERT     S.    STONE   &   CO. 
COPYRIGHT,      1907.     «^ 
O.    BERNARD    SHAW 


LOVE   AMONG    THE   ARTISTS 


THE  AUTHOR  TO  THE  READER. 

Dear  Sir  or  Madam: 

Will  you  allow  me  a  word  of  personal  explanation 
now  that  I  am,  for  the  second  time,  offering  you  a 
novel  which  is  not  the  outcome  of  my  maturer  experi- 
ence and  better  sense?  If  you  have  read  my  "Irra- 
tional Knot' '  to  the  bitter  end,  you  will  not  accuse  me 
of  mock  modesty  when  I  admit  that  it  was  very  long ; 
that  it  did  not  introduce  you  to  a  single  person  you 
could  conceivably  have  been  glad  to  know;  and  that 
your  knowledge  of  the  world  must  have  forewarned 
you  that  no  satisfactory  ending  was  possible.  You 
may,  it  is  true,  think  that  a  story  teller  should  not  let 
a  question  of  mere  possibility  stand  between  his  audi- 
ence and  the  satisfaction  of  a  happy  ending.  Yet 
somehow  my  conscience  stuck  at  it;  for  I  am  not  a 
professional  liar :  I  am  even  ashamed  of  the  extent  to 
which  in  my  human  infirmity  I  have  been  an  amateur 
one.  No:  my  stories  were  meant  to  be  \xxi'&  ex  hypo- 
thesi:  the  persons  were  fictitious ;  but  had  they  been 
real,  they  must  (or  so  I  thought  at  the  time)  have  acted 
as  I  said.  For,  if  you  can  believe  such  a  prodigy,  I 
was  but  an  infant  of  twenty-four  when,  being  at  that 
time  one  of  the  unemployed,  I  sat  down  to  mend  my 


VI  Love  Among  the  Artists 

straitened  fortunes  by  writing  "The  Irrational  Knot." 
I  had  done  the  same  thing  once  before ;  and  next  year, 
still  unemployed,  I  did  it  again.  That  third  attempt 
of  mine  is  about  to  see  the  light  in  this  volume. 
And  now  a  few  words  of  warning  to  you  before  you 
begin  it. 

I,  Though  the  wisdom  of  the  book  is  the  fruit  of  a 
quarter  century's  experience,  yet  the  earlier  years  of 
that  period  were  much  preoccupied  with  questions  of 
bodily  growth  and  nutrition ;  so  that  it  may  be  as  well 
to  bear  in  mind  that  "even  the  youngest  of  us  may  be 
wrong  sometimes."  2.  "Love  among  the  Artists"  is 
what  is  called  a  novel  with  a  purpose.  I  will  not 
undertake  to  say  at  this  distance  of  time  what  the  main 
purpose  was;  but  I  remember  that  I  had  a  notion  of 
illustrating  the  difference  between  that  enthusiasm  for 
the  fine  arts  which  people  gather  from  reading  about 
them,  and  the  genuine  artistic  faculty  which  cannot 
help  creating,  interpreting,  or  at  least  unaffectedly 
enjoying  music  and  pictures.  3.  This  book  has  no 
winding-up  at  the  end.  Mind:  it  is  not,  as  in  "The 
Irrational  Knot,"  a  case  of  the  upshot  being  unsatis- 
factory! There  is  absolutely  no  upshot  at  all.  The 
parties  are  married  in  the  middle  of  the  book ;  and  they 
do  not  elope  with  or  divorce  one  another,  or  do  any- 
thing unusual  or  improper.  When  as  much  is  told 
concerning  them  as  seemed  to  me  at  the  time  germane 
to  my  purpose,  the  novel  breaks  off.  But  if  you  pre- 
fer something  more  conclusive,  pray  do  not  scruple  to 
add  a  final  chapter  of  your  own  invention.  4.  If  you 
find  yourself  displeased  with  my  story,  remember  that 
it  is  not  I,  but  the  generous  and  appreciative  publisher 
of  the  book,  who  puts  it  forward  as  worth  reading. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  vii 

I  shall  polish  it  up  for  you  the  best  way  I  can,  and 
here  and  there  remove  some  absurdity  out  of  which  I 
have  grown  since  I  wrote  it,  but  I  cannot  substan- 
tially improve  it,  much  less  make  it  what  a  novel  ought 
to  be ;  for  I  have  given  up  novel  writing  these  many 
years,  during  which  I  have  lost  the  impudence  of  the 
apprentice  without  gaining  the  skill  of  the  master. 

There  is  an  end  to  all  things,  even  to  stocks  of 
unpublished  manuscript.  It  may  be  a  relief  to  you  to 
know  that  when  this  "Love  among  the  Artists"  shall 
have  run  its  course,  you  need  apprehend  no  more  fur- 
bished-up  early  attempts  at  fiction  from  me.  I  have 
written  but  five  novels  in  my  life ;  and  of  these  there 
will  remain  then  unpublished  only  the  first — a  very 
remarkable  work,  I  assure  you,  but  hardly  one  which 
I  should  be  well  advised  in  letting  loose  whilst  my 
livelihood  depends  on  my  credit  as  a  literary  workman, 

I  can  recall  a  certain  difficulty,  experienced  even 
whilst  I  was  writing  the  book,  in  remembering  what  it 
was  about.  Twice  I  clean  forgot  the  beginning,  and 
had  to  read  back,  as  I  might  have  read  any  other 
man's  novel,  to  learn  the  story.  If  I  could  not  remem- 
ber then,  how  can  I  presume  on  my  knowledge  of  the 
book  now  so  far  as  to  make  promises  about  it?  But  I 
suspect  you  will  find  yourself  in  less  sordid  company 
than  that  into  which  "The  Irrational  Knot"  plunged 
you.  And  I  can  guarantee  you  against  any  plot.  You 
will  be  candidly  dealt  with.  None  of  the  characters 
will  turn  out  to  be  somebody  else  in  the  last  chapter: 
no  violent  accidents  or  strokes  of  pure  luck  will  divert 
events  from  their  normal  course:  forger,  long  lost 
heir,  detective,  nor  any  commonplace  of  the  police 
court  or  of  the  realm  of  romance  shall  insult  your 


viii  Love  Among  the  Artists 

•understanding-,  or  tempt  you  to  read  on  when  you 
might  better  be  in  bed  or  attending  to  your  business. 
By  this  time  you  should  be  eager  to  be  at  the  story. 
Meanwhile  I  must  not  forget  that  it  is  only  by  your 
exceptional  indulgence  that  I  have  been  suffered  to 
detain  you  so  long  about  a  personal  matter ;  and  so  I 
thank  you  and  proceed  to  business. 

29,  Fitzroy  Square,  London,  W. 


BOOK  I 


CHAPTER  I 

One  fine  afternoon  during  the  Easter  holidays,  Ken- 
sington Gardens  were  in  their  freshest  spring  green, 
and  the  steps  of  the  Albert  Memorial  dotted  with 
country  visitors,  who  alternately  conned  their  guide- 
books and  stared  up  at  the  golden  gentleman  under 
the  shrine,  trying  to  reconcile  the  reality  with  the  des- 
cription, whilst  their  Cockney  friends,  indifferent  to 
shrine  and  statue,  gazed  idly  at  the  fashionable  drive 
below.  One  group  in  particular  was  composed  of  an 
old  gentleman  intent  upon  the  Memorial,  a  young  lady 
intent  upon  her  guide-book,  and  a  young  gentleman 
intent  upon  the  young  lady.  She  looked  a  woman  of 
force  and  intelligence ;  and  her  boldly  curved  nose  and 
chin,  elastic  step,  upright  carriage,  resolute  bearing, 
and  thick  black  hair,  secured  at  the  base  of  the  neck 
by  a  broad  crimson  ribbon,  made  those  whom  her 
appearance  pleased  think  her  strikingly  handsome. 
The  rest  thought  her  strikingly  ugly;  but  she  would 
perhaps  have  forgiven  them  for  the  sake  of  the  implied 
admission  that  she  was  at  least  not  commonplace ;  for 
her  costume,  consisting  of  an  ample  black  cloak  lined 
with  white  fur,  and  a  broad  hat  with  red  feather  and 
underbrim  of  sea  green  silk,  was  of  the  sort  affected 
by  women  who  strenuously  cultivate  themselves,  and 
insist  upon  their  individuality.  She  was  not  at  all  like 
her  father,  the  grey-haired  gentleman  who,  scanning 
the  Memorial  with  eager  watery  eyes,  was  uttering 
occasional  ejaculations  of  wonder  at  the  sum  it  must 

5 


6  Love  Among  the  Artists 

have  cost.  The  younger  man,  who  might  have  been 
thirty  or  thereabout,  was  slight  and  of  moderate 
stature.  His  fine  hair,  of  a  pale  golden  color,  already 
turning  to  a  silvery  brown,  curled  delicately  over  his 
temples,  where  it  was  beginning  to  wear  away.  A 
short  beard  set  off  his  features,  which  were  those  of  a 
man  of  exceptional  sensitiveness  and  refinement.  He 
was  the  Londoner  of  the  party;  and  he  waited  with 
devoted  patience  whilst  his  companions  satisfied  their 
curiosity.  It  was  pleasant  to  watch  them,  for  he  was 
not  gloating  over  her,  nor  she  too  conscious  that  she 
-was  making  the  sunshine  brighter  for  him;  and  yet 
they  were  quite  evidently  young  lovers,  and  as  happy 
as  people  at  their  age  know  how  to  be. 

At  last  the  old  gentleman's  appetite  for  the  Memorial 
yielded  to  the  fatigue  of  standing  on  the  stone  steps 
and  looking  upwards.  He  proposed  that  they  should 
find  a  seat  and  examine  the  edifice  from  a  little  distance. 

*'I  think  I  see  a  bench  down  there  with  only  one 
person  on  it,  Mary,"  he  said,  as  they  descended  the 
steps  at  the  west  side.  "Can  you  see  whether  he  is 
respectable?" 

The  young  lady,  who  was  shortsighted,  placed  a  pair 
of  glasses  on  her  salient  nose,  lifted  her  chin,  and 
deliberately  examined  the  person  on  the  bench.  He 
was  a  short,  thick-chested  young  man,  in  an  old 
creased  frock  coat,  with  a  worn-out  hat  and  no  linen 
visible.  His  skin,  pitted  by  smallpox,  seemed  grained 
with  black,  as  though  he  had  been  lately  in  a  coal- 
mine, and  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  towelling  the 
coal-dust  from  his  pores.  He  sat  with  his  arms  folded, 
staring  at  the  ground  before  him.  One  hand  was  con- 
cealed under  his  arm :  the  other  displayed  itself,  thick 


Love  Among  the  Artists  7 

in  the  palm,  with  short  fingers,  and  nails  bitten  to  the 
quick.  He  was  clean  shaven,  and  had  a  rugged,  reso- 
lute mouth,  a  short  nose,  marked  nostrils,  dark  eyes, 
and  black  hair,  which  curled  over  his  low,  broad 
forehead. 

"He  is  certainly  not  a  handsome  man,"  said  the 
lady;  "but  he  will  do  us  no  harm,  I  suppose?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  the  younger  gentleman  seri- 
ously. "But  I  can  get  some  chairs,  if  you  prefer 
them." 

"Nonsense!  I  was  only  joking."  As  she  spoke,  the 
man  on  the  bench  looked  up  at  her;  and  the  moment 
she  saw  his  eyes,  she  began  to  stand  in  some  awe  of 
him.  His  vague  stare  changed  to  a  keen  scrutiny, 
which  she  returned  hardily.  Then  he  looked  for  a 
moment  at  her  dress;  glanced  at  her  companions; 
and  relapsed  into  his  former  attitude. 

The  bench  accommodated  four  persons  easily.  The 
old  gentleman  sat  at  the  unoccupied  end,  next  his 
daughter.  Their  friend  placed  himself  between  her 
and  the  man,  at  whom  she  presently  stole  another  look. 
His  attention  was  again  aroused:  this  time  he  was 
looking  at  a  child  who  was  eating  an  apple  near  him. 
His  expression  gave  the  lady  an  uncomfortable  sensa- 
tion. The  child,  too,  caught  sight  of  him,  and  stopped 
eating  to  regard  him  mistrustfully.  He  smiled  with 
grim  good  humor,  and  turned  his  eyes  to  the  gravel 
once  more. 

"It  is  certainly  a  magnificent  piece  of  work,  Her- 
bert," said  the  old  gentleman.  "To  you,  as  an  artist, 
it  must  be  a  treat  indeed.  I  don't  know  enough  about 
art  to  appreciate  it  properly.  Bless  us!  And  are  all 
those  knobs  made  of  precious  stones?" 


8  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"More  or  less  precious:  yes,  I  believe  so,  Mr.  Suth- 
erland," said  Herbert,  smiling. 

"I  must  come  and  look  at  it  again,"  said  Mr.  Suth- 
erland, turning  from  the  memorial,  and  putting  his 
spectacles  on  the  bench  beside  him.  "  It  is  quite  a  study. 
I  wish  I  had  this  business  of  Charlie's  off  my  mind." 

"You  will  find  a  tutor  for  him  without  any  diffi- 
culty," said  Herbert.  "There  are  hundreds  to  choose 
from  in  London." 

"Yes;  but  if  there  were  a  thousand,  Charlie  would 
find  a  new  objection  to  every  one  of  them.  You  see 
the  difficulty  is  the  music." 

Herbert,  incommoded  by  a  sudden  movement  of  the 
strange  man,  got  a  little  nearer  to  Mary,  and  replied, 
"I  do  not  think  the  music  ought  to  present  much  diffi- 
culty. Many  young  men  qualifying  for  holy  orders 
are  very  glad  to  obtain  private  tutorships;  and  nowa- 
days a  clergyman  is  expected  to  have  some  knowledge 
of  music." 

"Yes,"  said  the  lady;  "but  what  is  the  use  of  that 
when  Charlie  expressly  objects  to  clergymen?  I  sym- 
pathize with  him  there,  for  once.  Divinity  students 
are  too  narrow  and  dogmatic  to  be  comfortable  to  live 
with." 

"There  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Sutherland,  suddenly 
indignant:  ^''yoii  are  beginning  to  make  objections. 
Do  you  expect  to  get  an  angel  from  heaven  to  teach 
Charlie?" 

"No,  papa;  but  I  doubt  if  anything  less  will  satisfy 
him." 

' '  I  will  speak  to  some  of  my  friends  about  it, ' '  said 
Herbert.  "There  is  no  hurry  for  a  week  or  two,  I 
suppose?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  9 

"Oh,  no,  none  whatever,"  said  Mr,  Sutherland, 
ostentatiously  serene  after  his  outbreak:  "there  is  no 
hurry  certainly.  But  Charlie  must  not  be  allowed  to 
contract  habits  of  idleness ;  and  if  the  matter  cannot 
be  settled  to  his  liking,  I  shall  exert  my  authority,  and 
select  a  tutor  myself.  I  cannot  understand  his  objec- 
tion to  the  man  we  saw  at  Archdeacon  Downes's.  Can 
you,  Mary?" 

"I  can  understand  that  Charlie  is  too  lazy  to  work," 
said  Mary.  Then,  as  if  tired  of  the  subject,  she  turned 
to  Herbert,  and  said,  "You  have  not  yet  told  us  when 
we  may  come  to  your  studio  and  see  The  Lady  of 
Shalott.  I  am  very  anxious  to  see  it.  I  shall  not  mind 
its  being  unfinished." 

"But  I  shall,"  said  Herbert,  suddenly  becoming 
self-conscious  and  nervous.  "I  fear  the  picture  will 
disappoint  you  in  any  case ;  but  at  least  I  wish  it  to  be 
as  good  as  I  can  make  it,  before  you  see  it.  I  must 
ask  you  to  wait  until  Thursday. ' ' 

"Certainly,  if  you  like,"  said  Mary  earnestly.  She 
was  about  to  add  something,  when  Mr.  Sutherland, 
who  had  become  somewhat  restive  when  the  conversa- 
tion turned  upon  pictures,  declared  that  he  had  sat 
long  enough.  So  they  rose  to  go;  and  Mary  turned  to 
get  a  last  glimpse  of  the  man.  He  was  looking  at 
them  with  a  troubled  expression;  and  his  lips  were 
white.  She  thought  he  was  about  to  speak,  and  invol- 
untarily retreated  a  step.  But  he  said  nothing:  only 
she  was  struck,  as  he  composed  himself  in  his  old 
attitude,  by  his  extreme  dejection. 

"Did  you  notice  that  man  sitting  next  you?"  she 
whispered  to  Herbert,  when  they  had  gone  a  little 
distance. 


lo  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Not  particularly." 

"Do  you  think  he  is  very  poor?'* 

"He  certainly  does  not  appear  to  be  very  rich,"  said 
Herbert,  looking  back. 

' '  I  saw  a  very  odd  look  in  his  eyes.  I  hope  he  is 
not  hungry." 

They  stopped.  Then  Herbert  walked  slowly  on. 
"I  should  think  not  so  bad  as  that,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
think  his  appearance  would  justify  me  in  offering 
him ' ' 

"Oh,  dear,  dear  me!"  said  Mr.  Sutherland.  "I  am 
very  stupid." 

"What  is  the  matter  now,  papa?" 

"I  have  lost  my  glasses.  I  must  have  left  them  on 
that  seat.  Just  wait  one  moment  whilst  I  go  back  for 
them.  No,  no,  Herbert:  I  will  go  back  myself.  I 
recollect  exactly  where  I  laid  them  down.  I  shall  be 
back  in  a  moment. ' ' 

"Papa  always  takes  the  most  exact  notes  of  the 
places  in  which  he  puts  things ;  and  he  always  leaves 
them  behind  him  after  all,"  said  Mary.  "There  is 
that  man  in  precisely  the  same  position  as  when  we 
first  saw  him." 

' '  No.  He  is  saying  something  to  your  father.  Beg- 
ging, I  am  afraid,  or  he  would  not  stand  up  and  lift  his 
hat." 

"How  dreadful!" 

Herbert  laughed.  "K,  as  you  suspected,  he  is 
hungry,  there  is  nothing  very  dreadful  in  it,  poor 
fellow.     It  is  natural  enough.  * ' 

"I  did  not  mean  that.  I  meant  that  it  was  dreadful 
to  think  of  his  being  forced  to  beg.  Papa  has  not 
given  him  anything — I  wish  he  would.     He  evidently 


Love  Among  the  Artists  ii 

wants  to  get  rid  of  him,  and,  of  course,  does  not  know 
how  to  do  it.     Let  us  go  back. " 

"If  you  wish,"  said  Herbert,  reluctantly.  "But  I 
warn  you  that  London  is  full  of  begging  impos- 
tors." 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Sutherland,  finding  his  spectacles 
where  he  had  left  them,  took  them  up;  wiped  them 
with  his  handkerchief;  and  was  turning  away,  when 
he  found  himself  confronted  by  the  strange  man,  who 
had  risen. 

"Sir,"  said  the  man,  raising  his  shabby  hat,  and 
speaking  in  a  subdued  voice  of  remarkable  power:  "I 
have  been  a  tutor ;  and  I  am  a  musician,  I  can  con- 
vince you  that  I  am  an  honest  and  respectable  man. 
I  am  in  need  of  employment.  Something  I  overheard 
just  now  leads  me  to  hope  that  you  can  assist  me.  I 
will" Here  the  man,  though  apparently  self- 
possessed,  stopped  as  if  his  breath  had  failed  him. 

Mr.  Sutherland's  first  impulse  was  to  tell  the 
stranger  stiffly  that  he  had  no  occasion  for  his  services. 
But  as  there  were  no  bystanders,  and  the  man's  gaze 
was  impressive,  he  became  nervous,  and  said  hastily, 
"Oh,  thank  you:  I  have  not  decided  what  I  shall  do  as 
yet."     And  he  attempted  to  pass  on. 

The  man  immediately  stepped  aside,  saying,  "If 
you  will  favor  me  with  your  address,  sir,  I  can  send 
you  testimonials  which  will  prove  that  I  have  a  right 
to  seek  such  a  place  as  you  describe.  If  they  do  not 
satisfy  you,  I  shall  trouble  you  no  further.  Or  if  you 
will  be  so  good  as  to  accept  my  card,  you  can  consider 
at  your  leisure  whether  to  communicate  with  me  or 
not" 

"Certainly,  I  will  take  your  card,"  said  Mr.  Suther- 


12  Love  Among  the  Artists 

land,  flurried  and  conciliatory,  "Thank  you.  I  can 
write  to  you,  you,  know,  if  I " 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you."  Here  he  produced 
an  ordinary  visiting  card,  with  the  name  "Mr.  Owen 
Jack"  engraved,  and  an  address  at  Church  Street, 
Kensington,  written  in  a  crabbed  but  distinct  hand  in 
the  corner.  Whilst  Mr.  Sutherland  was  pretending  to 
read  it,  his  daughter  came  up,  purse  in  hand,  hurrying 
before  Herbert,  whose  charity  she  wished  to  forestall. 
Mr.  Owen  Jack  looked  at  her;  and  she  hid  her  purse 
quickly.  "I  am  sorry  to  have  delayed  you,  sir,"  he 
said.  "Good  morning."  He  raised  his  hat  again,  and 
walked  away. 

' '  Good  morning,  sir, ' '  said  Mr.  Sutherland.  ' '  Lord 
bless  me!  that's  a  cool  fellow,"  he  added,  recovering 
himself,  and  beginning  to  feel  ashamed  of  having  been 
so  courteous  to  a  poorly  dressed  stranger. 

"What  did  he  want,  papa?" 

"Indeed,  my  dear,  he  has  shown  me  that  we  cannot 
be  too  careful  of  how  we  talk  before  strangers  in  Lon- 
don. By  the  purest  accident — the  merest  chance,  I 
happened,  whilst  we  were  sitting  here  five  minutes 
ago,  to  mention  that  we  wanted  a  tutor  for  Charlie. 
This  man  was  listening  to  us;  and  now  he  has  offered 
himself  for  the  place.  Just  fancy  the  quickness  of 
that.     Here  is  his  card. " 

"Owen  Jack!"  said  Mary,     "What  a  name!" 

"Did  he  overhear  anything  about  the  musical  diffi- 
culty?" said  Herbert.  "Nature  does  not  seem  to  have 
formed  Mr.  Jack  for  the  pursuit  of  a  fine  art." 

"Yes:  he  caught  up  even  that.  According  to  his 
own  account,  he  understands  music — in  fact  he  can  do 
everything. ' ' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  13 

Mary  looked  thoughtful.  "After  all,"  she  said 
slowly,  "he  might  suit  us.  He  is  certainly  not  hand- 
some; but  he  does  not  seem  stupid;  and  he  would 
probably  not  want  a  large  salary.  I  think  Archdeacon 
Downes's  man's  terms  are  perfectly  ridiculous." 

' '  I  am  afraid  it  would  be  rather  a  dangerous  experi- 
ment to  give  a  responsible  post  to  an  individual  whom 
we  have  chanced  upon  in  a  public  park,"  said  Herbert, 

"Oh!  out  of  the  question,"  said  Mr,  Sutherland. 
"I  only  took  his  card  as  the  shortest  way  of  getting 
rid  of  him.     Perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  do  even  that. ' ' 

"Of  course  we  should  have  to  make  inquiries,"  said 
Mary.  "Somehow,  I  cannot  get  it  out  of  my  head 
that  he  is  in  very  bad  circumstances.  He  might  be  a 
gentleman.     He  does  not  look  common." 

"I  agree  with  you  so  far,"  said  Herbert.  "And  I 
am  not  sorry  that  such  models  are  scarce.  But  of 
course  you  are  quite  right  in  desiring  to  assist  this 
man,  if  he  is  unfortunate." 

"Engaging  a  tutor  is  a  very  commonplace  affair," 
said  Mary;  "but  we  may  as  well  do  some  good  by  it  if 
we  can.  Archdeacon  Downes's  man  is  in  no  immedi- 
ate want  of  a  situation:  he  has  dozens  of  offers  to 
choose  from.  Why  not  give  the  place  to  whoever  is 
in  the  greatest  need  of  it?" 

"Very  well,"  cried  Mr.  Sutherland.  "Send  after 
him  and  bring  him  home  at  once  in  a  carriage  and 
pair,  since  you  have  made  up  your  mind  not  to  hear  to 
reason  on  the  subject." 

"After  all,"  interposed  Herbert,  "it  will  do  no  harm 
to  make  a  few  inquiries.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will 
take  the  matter  in  hand,  so  as  to  prevent  all  possibility 
of  his  calling  on  or  disturbing  you.     Give  me  his  card. 


14  Love  Among  the  Artists 

I  will  write  to  him  for  his  testimonials  and  references, 
and  so  forth ;  and  if  anything  comes  of  it,  I  can  then 
hand  him  over  to  you. ' ' 

Mary  looked  gratefully  at  him,  and  said,  "Do,  papa. 
Let  Mr.  Herbert  write.  It  cannot  possibly  do  any 
harm ;  and  it  will  be  no  trouble  to  you. ' ' 

"I  do  not  object  to  the  trouble,"  said  Mr.  Suther- 
land. "I  have  taken  the  trouble  of  coming  up  to 
London,  all  the  way  from  Windsor,  already,  solely  for 
Charlie's  sake.  However,  Herbert,  perhaps  you  could 
manage  the  affair  better  than  I,  In  fact,  I  should 
prefer  to  remain  in  the  background.  But  then  your 
time  is  valuable " 

"It  will  cost  me  only  a  few  minutes  to  write  the 
necessary  letters — minutes  that  would  be  no  better 
spent  in  any  case.  I  assure  you  it  will  be  practically 
no  trouble  to  me. ' ' 

"There,  papa.  Now  we  have  settled  that  point,  let 
us  go  on  to  the  National  Gallery.  I  wish  we  were 
going  to  your  studio  instead." 

"You  must  not  ask  for  that  yet,"  said  Herbert 
earnestly.  "I  promise  you  a  special  private  view  of 
•The  Lady  of  Shalotf  on  Thursday  next  at  latest." 


CHAPTER  II 

Alton  Colleg-e,  Lyvem. 
Sir, — In  answer  to  your  letter  of  the  12th  instant,  I 
am  instructed  by  Miss  Wilson  to  inform  you  that  Mr. 
Jack  was  engaged  here  for  ten  months  as  professor  of 
music  and  elocution.  At  the  end  of  that  period  he 
refused  to  impart  any  further  musical  instruction  to 
three  young  ladies  who  desired  a  set  of  finishing 
lessons.  He  therefore  considered  himself  bound  to 
vacate  his  post,  though  Miss  Wilson  desires  me  to 
state  expressly  that  she  did  not  insist  on  that  course. 
She  has  much  pleasure  in  testifying  to  the  satisfactory 
manner  in  which  Mr.  Jack  maintained  his  authority 
in  the  school.  He  is  an  exacting  teacher,  but  a  patient 
and  thoroughly  capable  one.  During  his  stay  at 
Alton  College,  his  general  conduct  was  irreproachable, 
and  his  marked  personal  influence  gained  for  him  the 
respect  and  good  wishes  of  his  pupils. 

I  am,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

Phillis  Ward,  F.C.P.,  etc. 

14  West  Precinct,  Lipport  Cathedral, 
South  Wales. 
Sir, — Mr,  Owen  Jack  is  a  native  of  this  town,  and 
was,  in  his  boyhood,  a  member  of  the  Cathedral  Choir. 
He  is  respectably  connected,  and  is  personally  known 
to  me  as  a  strictly  honorable  young  man.     He  has 
musical  talent  of  a  certain  kind,  and  is  undoubtedly 
qualified  to  teach  the  rudiments  of  music,  though  he 
never,   whilst  under  our  guidance,   gave  any  serious 
consideration  to  the  higher  forms   of   composition — 
more,  I  should  add,  from  natural  inaptitude  than  from 
want  of  energy  and  perseverance.    I  should  be  glad  to 
hear  of  his  obtaining  a  good  position. 
Yours  truly, 

John  Burton,  Mus.  Doc,  Ox. 

IS 


1 6  Love  Among  the  Artists 

These  were  the  replies  to  the  inquiries  about  Mr. 
Jack. 

On  Thursday  afternoon  Herbert  stood  before  his 
easel,  watching  the  light  changing  on  his  picture  as 
the  clouds  shifted  in  the  wind.  At  moments  when  the 
effect  on  the  color  pleased  him,  he  wished  that  Mary 
would  enter  and  see  it  so  at  her  first  glance.  But  as 
the  afternoon  wore,  it  became  duller;  and  when  she  at 
last  arrived,  he  felt  sorry  he  had  not  appointed  one 
o'clock  instead  of  three.  She  was  accompanied  by  a 
tall  lad  of  sixteen,  with  light  blue  eyes,  fair  hair,  and 
an  expression  of  irreverent  good  humor. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Herbert.  "Take  care  of 
those  sketches,  Charlie,  old  fellow.     They  are  wet." 

"Papa  felt  very  tired:  he  thought  it  best  to  lie  down 
for  a  little,"  said  Mary,  throwing  off  her  cloak  and 
appearing  in  a  handsome  dress  of  marmalade-colored 
silk.  "He  leaves  the  arrangements  with  Mr.  Jack  to 
you.  I  suspect  the  dread  of  having  to  confront  that 
mysterious  stranger  again  had  something  to  do  with 
his  fatigue.     Is  the  Lady  of  Shalott  ready  to  be  seen?" 

"The  light  is  bad,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  said  Herbert, 
lingering  whilst  Mary  made  a  movement  towards  the 
easel. 

"Don't  push  into  the  room  like  that,  Mary,"  said 
Charlie,  "Artists  always  have  models  in  their  studios. 
Give  the  young  lady  time  to  dress  herself." 

"There  is  a  gleam  of  sunshine  now,"  said  Herbert, 
gravely  ignoring  the  lad.  "Better  have  your  first 
look  at  it  while  it  lasts." 

Mary  placed  herself  before  the  easel,  and  gazed 
earnestly  at  it,  finding  that  expression  the  easiest  mask 
for  a  pang  of  disappointment  which  followed  her  first 


Love  Among  the  Artists  17 

glance  at  the  canvas.  Herbert  did  not  interrupt  her 
for  some  moments.  Then  he  said  in  a  low  voice :  "You 
understand  her  action,  do  you  not?" 

"Yes.  She  has  just  seen  the  reflexion  of  Lancelot's 
figure  in  the  mirror ;  and  she  is  turning  round  to  look 
at  the  reality." 

"She  has  a  deuce  of  a  scraggy  collar-bone,"  said 
Charlie. 

"Oh,  hush,  Charlie,"  cried  Mary,  dreading  that  her 
brother  might  roughly  express  her  own  thoughts. 
"It  seems  quite  right  to  me." 

"The  action  of  turning  to  look  over  her  shoulder 
brings  out  the  clavicle,"  said  Herbert,  smiling.  "It 
is  less  prominent  in  the  picture  than  it  would  be  in 
nature :  I  had  to  soften  it  a  little. ' ' 

"Why  didn't  you  paint  her  in  some  other  attitude?" 
said  Charlie. 

"Because  I  happened  to  be  aiming  at  the  seizure  of 
a  poetic  moment,  and  not  at  the  representation  of  a 
pretty  bust,  my  critical  young  friend,"  said  Herbert 
quietly.  "I  think  you  are  a  little  too  close  to  the  can- 
vas. Miss  Sutherland.  Remember:  the  picture  is  not 
quite  finished." 

"She  can't  see  anything  unless  she  is  close  to  it," 
said  Charlie.  "In  fact,  she  never  can  get  close  enough, 
because  her  nose  is  longer  than  her  sight.  I  don't 
understand  that  window  up  there  above  the  woman's 
head.  In  reality  there  would  be  nothing  to  see 
through  it  except  the  sky.  But  there  is  a  river,  and 
flowers,  and  a  man  from  the  Lord  Mayor's  show.  Are 
they  up  on  a  mountain?" 

"Charlie,  please  stop.    How  can  you  be  so  rude?" 

"Oh,  I  am  accustomed  to  criticism, "  said  Herbert. 


1 8  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"You  are  a  born  critic,  Charlie,  since  you  cannot 
distinguish  a  mirror  from  a  window.  Have  you  never 
read  your  Tennyson?" 

"Read  Tennyson!  I  should  think  not.  What 
sensible  man  would  wade  through  the  adventures  of 
King  Arthur  and  his  knights?  One  would  think  that 
Don  Quixote  had  put  a  stop  to  that  style  of  nonsense. 
Who  was  the  Lady  of  Shalott?  One  of  Sir  Lancelot's, 
or  Sir  Galahad's,  or  Sir  Somebodyelse's  young  women, 
I  suppose." 

"Do  not  mind  him,  Mr.  Herbert.  It  is  pure  affec- 
tation.    He  knows  perfectly  well." 

"I  don't,"  said  Charlie;  "and  what's  more,  I  don't 
believe  you  know  either. ' ' 

"The  Lady  of  Shalott,"  said  Herbert,  "had  a  task 
to  perform ;  and  whilst  she  was  at  work  upon  it,  she 
was,  on  pain  of  a  curse,  only  to  see  the  outer  world  as 
it  was  reflected  by  a  mirror  which  hung  above  her 
head.  One  day.  Sir  Lancelot  rode  by ;  and  when  she 
saw  his  image  she  forgot  the  curse  and  turned  to  look 
at  him." 

"Very  interesting  and  sensible,"  said  Charlie. 
"Why  mightn't  she  as  well  have  looked  at  the  world 
straight  off  out  of  the  window,  as  seen  it  left  handed 
in  a  mirror?  The  notion  of  a  woman  spending  her  life 
making  a  Turkey  carpet  is  considered  poetic,  I  sup- 
pose.    What  happened  when  she  looked  round?" 

"Ah,  I  see  you  are  interested.  Nothing  happened, 
except  that  the  mirror  broke  and  the  lady  died. ' ' 

"Yes,  and  then  got  into  a  boat;  rowed  herself  down 
to  Hampton  Court  into  the  middle  of  a  water  party ; 
and  arranged  her  corpse  in  an  attitude  for  the  benefit 
of  Lancelot.     I've  seen  a  picture  of  that." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  19 

"I  see  you  do  know  something  about  Tenny- 
son. Now,  Miss  Sutherland,  what  is  your  honest 
opinion?" 

"I  think  it  is  beautiful.  The  coloring  seemed  rather 
dull  to  me  at  first,  because  I  had  been  thinking  of  the 
river  bank,  the  golden  grain,  the  dazzling  sun,  the 
gorgeous  loom,  the  armor  of  Sir  Lancelot,  instead  of 
the  Lady  herself.  But  now  that  I  have  grasped  your 
idea,  there  is  a  certain  sadness  and  weakness  about 
her  that  is  very  pathetic. ' ' 

"Do  you  think  the  figure  is  weak?"  said  Herbert 
dubiously. 

"Not  really  weak,"  replied  Mary  hastily.  "I  mean 
that  the  weakness  proper  to  her  story  is  very  touch- 
ingly  expressed." 

"She  means  that  it  is  too  sober  and  respectable  for 
her,"  said  Charlie.  "She  likes  screaming  colors.  If 
you  had  dressed  the  lady  in  red  and  gold ;  painted  the 
Turkey  carpet  in  full  bloom ;  and  made  Lancelot  like 
a  sugar  stick,  she  would  have  liked  it  better.  That 
armor,  by  the  bye,  would  be  the  better  for  a  rub  of 
emery  paper. ' ' 

"Armor  is  hard  to  manage,  particularly  in  distance," 
said  Herbert.  "Here  I  had  to  contend  with  the 
additional  difficulty  of  not  making  the  reflexion  in  the 
mirror  seem  too  real." 

"You  seem  to  have  got  over  that  pretty  success- 
fully," said  Charlie. 

"Yes,"  said  Mary.  "There  is  a  certain  unreality 
about  the  landscape  and  the  figure  in  armor  that  I 
hardly  understood  at  first.  The  more  I  strive  to 
exercise  my  judgment  upon  art,  the  more  I  feel  my 
ignorance.     I  wish  you  would  always  tell  me  when  I 


20  Love  Among  the  Artists 

make  foolish  comments.  There  is  someone  knocking, 
I  think." 

"It  is  only  the  housekeeper,"  said  Herbert,  opening 
the  door. 

"Mr.  Jack,  sir,"  said  the  housekeeper, 

"Dear  me!  we  must  have  been  very  late,"  said 
Mary.  "It  is  four  o'clock.  Now  Charlie,  pray 
behave  like  a  gentleman." 

"I  suppose  he  had  better  come  in  here,"  said 
Herbert.     "Or  would  you  rather  not  meet  him?" 

"Oh,  I  must  meet  him.  Papa  told  me  particularly 
to  speak  to  him  myself." 

Mr.  Jack  was  accordingly  shewn  in  by  the  house- 
keeper. This  time,  he  displayed  linen — a  clean  collar; 
and  he  carried  a  new  hat.  He  made  a  formal  bow, 
and  looked  at  the  artist  and  his  guests,  who  became  a 
little  nervous. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Jack,"  said  Herbert.  "I  see 
you  got  my  letter. ' ' 

"You  are  Mr.  Herbert?"  said  Jack,  in  his  resonant 
voice,  which,  in  the  lofty  studio,  had  a  bright,  close 
quality  like  the  middle  notes  of  a  trumpet.  Herbert 
nodded.  "You  are  not  the  gentleman  to  whom  I 
spoke  on  Saturday  .f"" 

"No.  Mr.  Sutherland  is  not  well;  and  I  am  acting 
for  him.  This  is  the  young  gentleman  whom  I 
mentioned  to  you." 

Charlie  blushed,  and  grinned.  Then,  seeing  a 
humorous  wrinkling  in  the  stranger's  face,  he 
stepped  forward  and  offered  him  his  hand.  Jack 
shook  it  heartily.  "I  shall  get  on  very  well  with 
you,"  he  said,  "if  you  think  you  will  like  me  as  a 
tutor." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  21 

"Charlie  never  works,"  said  Mary:  "that  is  his 
great  failing,  Mr.  Jack." 

"You  have  no  right  to  say  that,"  said  Charlie, 
reddening.  "How  do  you  know  whether  I  work  or 
not?  I  can  make  a  start  with  Mr.  Jack  without  being 
handicapped  by  your  amiable  recommendation." 

"This is  Miss  Sutherland,"  said  Herbert,  interposing 
quickly.  "She  is  the  mistress  of  Mr.  Sutherland's 
household;  and  she  will  explain  to  you  how  you  will 
be  circumstanced  as  regards  your  residence  with  the 
family. ' ' 

Jack  bowed  again.  "I  should  like  to  know,  first, 
at  what  studies  this  young  gentleman  requires  my 
assistance." 

"I  want  to  learn  something  about  music — about  the 
theory  of  music,  you  know,"  said  Charlie;  "and  I  can 
grind  at  anything  else  you  like." 

"His  general  education  must  not  be  sacrificed  to  the 
music,"  said  Mary  anxiously. 

"Oh!  don't  you  be  afraid  of  my  getting  off  too 
easily,"  said  Charlie.  "I  dare  say  Mr.  Jack  knows  his 
business  without  being  told  it  by  you." 

"Pray  don't  interrupt  me,  Charlie.  I  wish  you 
would  go  into  the  next  room  and  look  at  the  sketches. 
I  shall  have  to  arrange  matters  with  Mr.  Jack  which 
do  not  concern  you. ' ' 

"Very  well,"  said  Charlie,  sulkily.  "I  don't  want 
to  interfere  with  your  arrangements;  but  don't  you 
interfere  with  mine.  Let  Mr.  Jack  form  his  own 
opinion  of  me;  and  keep  yours  to  yourself."  Then 
he  left  the  studio. 

"If  there  is  to  be  any  serious  study  of  music — I 
understood  from  Mr.  Herbert  that  your  young  brother 


22  Love  Among:  the  Artists 


t> 


desires  to  make  it  his  profession — other  matters  must 
give  place  to  it,"  said  Jack  bluntly.  "A  little  ex- 
perience will  shew  us  the  best  course  to  take  with  him. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Mary.  After  hesitating  a  moment  she 
added  timidly,  "Then  you  are  willing  to  undertake 
his  instruction?" 

"I  am  willing,  so  far,"  said  Jack. 

Mary  looked  nervously  at  Herbert,  who  smiled,  and 
said,  "Since  we  are  satisfied  on  that  point,  the  only 
remaining  question,  I  presume,  is  one  of  terms." 

"Sir,"  said  Jack  abruptly,  "I  hate  business  and 
know  nothing  about  it.  Therefore  excuse  me  if  I  put 
my  terms  in  my  own  way.  If  I  am  to  live  with  Mr. 
Sutherland  at  Windsor,  I  shall  want,  besides  food  and 
lodging,  a  reasonable  time  to  myself  every  day,  with 
permission  to  use  Miss  Sutherland's  piano  when  I  can 
do  so  without  disturbing  anybody,  and  money  enough 
to  keep  me  decently  clothed,  and  not  absolutely 
penniless.     I  will  say  thirty-five  pounds  a  year. ' ' 

"Thirty-five  pounds  a  year"  repeated  Herbert.  "To 
confess  the  truth,  I  am  not  a  man  of  business  myself ; 
but  that  seems  quite  reasonable." 

"Oh,  quite,"  said  Mary.  "I  think  papa  would  not 
mind  giving  more. ' ' 

"It  is  enough  for  me,"  said  Jack,  with  something 
like  a  suppressed  chuckle  at  Mary's  simplicity.  "Or, 
I  will  take  a  church  organ  in  the  neighborhood,  if 
you  can  procure  it  for  me,  in  lieu  of  salary." 

"I  think  we  had  better  adhere  to  the  usual  arrange- 
ment," said  Herbert.  Jack  nodded,  and  said,  "I  have 
no  further  conditions  to  make. ' ' 

"Do  you  wish  to  say  anything?"  said  Herbert,  look- 
ing inquiringly  at  Mary. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  23 

"No,  I — I  think  not.  I  thought  Mr.  Jack  would  like 
to  know  something  of  our  domestic  arrangements. ' ' 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jack  curtly,  "I  need  not  trouble 
you.  If  your  house  does  not  suit  me,  I  can  complain, 
or  leave  it."  He  paused,  and  then  added  more 
courteously,  "You  may  reassure  yourself  as  to  my 
personal  comfort,  Miss  Sutherland.  I  am  well  used  to 
greater  privation  than  I  am  likely  to  suffer  with  you." 

Mary  had  nothing  more  to  say.  Herbert  coughed 
and  turned  his  ring  round  a  few  times  upon  his 
finger.     Jack  stood  motionless,  and  looked  very  ugly. 

"Although  Mr.  Sutherland  has  left  this  matter 
altogether  in  my  hands,"  said  Herbert  at  last,  "I 
hardly  like  to  conclude  it  myself.  He  is  staying  close 
by,  in  Onslow  Gardens,  Would  you  mind  calling  on 
him  now?  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  give  you  a 
note  to  the  effect  that  our  interview  has  been  a 
satisfactory  one."  Jack  bowed.  "Excuse  me  for 
one  moment.  My  writing  materials  are  in  the  next 
room.  I  will  say  a  word  or  two  to  Charlie,  and  send 
him  in  to  you. '  * 

There  was  a  mirror  in  the  room,  which  Herbert  had 
used  as  a  model.  It  was  so  placed  that  Mary  could  see 
the  image  of  the  new  tutor's  face,  as,  being  now  alone 
with  her,  he  looked  for  the  first  time  at  the  picture. 
A  sudden  setting  of  his  mouth  and  derisive  twinkle 
in  his  eye  shewed  that  he  found  something  half 
ludicrous,  half  contemptible,  in  the  work;  and  she, 
observing  this,  felt  hurt,  and  began  to  repent  having 
engaged  him.  Then  the  expression  softened  to  one  of 
compassion;  he  sighed  as  he  turned  away  from  the 
easel.  Before  she  could  speak  Charlie  entered,  say- 
ing; 


24  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"I  am  to  go  back  with  you  to  Onslow  Gardens,  Mr. 
Jack,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Oh,  no,  Charlie:  you  must  stay  with  me,"  said 
Mary. 

"Don't  be  alarmed:  Adrian  is  going-  on  to  the 
Museum  with  you  directly;  and  the  housekeeper  is 
here  to  do  propriety,  I  have  no  particular  fancy  for 
lounging  about  that  South  Kensington  crockery  shop 
with  you;  and,  besides,  Mr.  Jack  does  not  know  his 
way  to  Jermyn's.     Here  is  Adrian." 

Herbert  came  in,  and  handed  a  note  to  the  tutor, 
who  took  it;  nodded  briefly  to  them;  and  went  out 
with  Charlie. 

"That  is  certainly  the  ugliest  man  I  ever  saw,"  said 
Herbert.  "I  think  he  has  got  the  better  of  us,  too. 
We  are  a  pretty  pair  to  transact  business." 

"Yes,"  said  Mary,  laughing.  "He  said  he  was  not 
a  man  of  business;  but  I  wonder  what  he  thinks  of 
us." 

"As  of  two  young  children  whom  fate  has  delivered 
into  his  hand,  doubtless.  Shall  we  start  now  for 
South  Kensington?" 

"Yes.  But  I  don't  want  to  disturb  my  impression 
of  the  Lady  of  Shalott  by  any  more  art  to-day.  It  is 
so  fine  this  afternoon  that  I  think  it  would  be  more 
sensible  for  us  to  take  a  walk  in  the  Park  than  to  shut 
ourselves  up  in  the  Museum." 

Herbert  agreeing,  they  walked  together  to  Hyde 
Park.  "Now  that  we  are  here,"  said  he,  "where 
shall  we  go  to?     The  Row?" 

"Certainly  not.  It  is  the  most  vulgar  place  in 
London.  If  we  could  find  a  pleasant  seat,  I  should 
like  to  rest." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  25 

"We  had  better  try  Kensington  Gardens,  then." 

"No,"  said  Mary,  remembering  Mr.  Jack.  "I  do 
not  like  Kensington  Gardens. ' ' 

"I  have  just  thought  of  the  very  thing,"  exclaimed 
Herbert.  "Let  us  take  a  boat.  The  Serpentine  is  not 
so  pretty  as  the  Thames  at  Windsor ;  but  it  will  have 
the  charm  of  novelty  for  you.     Will  you  come?" 

"I  should  like  it  of  all  things.  But  I  rely  upon  you 
as  to  the  propriety  of  my  going  with  you. " 

Herbert  hesitated.  "I  do  not  think  there  can  be 
any  harm " 

"There:  I  was  only  joking.  Do  you  think  I  allow 
myself  to  be  influenced  by  such  nonsense  as  that?  Let 
us  go." 

So  they  went  to  the  boat-house  and  embarked. 
Herbert  sculled  aimlessly  about,  enjoying  the  spring 
sunshine,  until  they  found  themselves  in  an  unfre- 
quented corner  of  the  Serpentine,  when  he  half 
shipped  his  sculls,  and  said,  "Let  us  talk  for  a  while 
now.     I  have  worked  enough,  I  think." 

"By  all  means,"  said  Mary,     "May  I  begin?" 

Herbert  looked  quickly  at  her,  and  seemed  a  little 
disconcerted.     "Of  course,"    said  he. 

"I  want  to  make  a  confession,"  she  said.  "It  con- 
cerns the  Lady  of  Shalott,  of  which  I  have  been  busily 
thinking  since  we  started." 

"Have  you  reconsidered  your  good  opinion  of  it?' 

"No.  Better  and  yet  worse  than  that.  I  have 
reconsidered  my  bad  impression  of  it — at  least,  I  do 
not  mean  that — I  never  had  a  bad  impression  of  it, 
but  my  vacant,  stupid  first  idea.  My  confession  is  that 
I  was  disappointed  at  the  first  sight  of  it.  Wait:  let 
me  finish.      It  was  different  from  what  I  imagined,  as 


26  Love  Among  the  Artists 

it  ought  to  have  been;  for  I  am  not  an  artist,  and 
therefore  do  not  imagine  things  properly.  But  it  has 
grown  upon  me  since ;  and  now  I  like  it  better  than  if 
it  had  dazzled  my  ignorant  eyes  at  first.  I  have  been 
thinking  that  if  it  had  the  gaudy  qualities  1  missed  in 
it,  I  should  not  have  respected  you  so  much  for  paint- 
ing it,  nor  should  I  have  been  forced  to  dwell  on  the 
poetry  of  the  conception  as  I  have  been.  I  remember 
being  secretly  disappointed  the  first  time  we  went  to 
the  National  Gallery;  and,  as  to  my  first  opera,  I 
suffered  agonies  of  disenchantment.  It  is  a  comfort 
to  me — a  mean  one,  I  fear — to  know  that  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  was  disappointed  at  his  first  glimpse  of 
Raphael's  frescoes  in  the  Vatican,  and  that  some  of 
the  great  composers  thought  Beethoven's  music 
hideous  before  they  became  familiar  with  it." 

"You  find  that  my  picture  improves  on  ac- 
quaintance?" 

"Oh,  yes!  Very  much.     Or  rather  I  improve." 

"But  are  you  sure  you  are  not  coaxing  yourself  into 
a  false  admiration  of  it  for  my — to  avoid  hurting  me?" 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Mary  vehemently,  trying  by 
force  of  assertion  to  stifle  this  suspicion,  which  had 
come  into  her  own  mind  before  Herbert  mentioned  it. 

"And  do  you  still  feel  able  to  sympathize  with  my 
aims,  and  willing  to  encourage  me,  and  to  keep  the 
highest  aspects  of  my  art  before  me,  as  you  have  done 
hitherto?" 

"I  feel  willing,  but  not  able.  How  often  must  I 
remind  you  that  I  owe  all  my  feeling  for  art  to  you, 
and  that  I  am  only  the  faint  reflexion  of  you  in  all 
matters  concerning  it?" 

**  Nevertheless  without  your  help  I  should  long  ago 


Love  Among  the  Artists  ^7 

have  despaired.     Are   you  quite  sure — I  beg  you  to 
answer  me  faithfully — that  you  do  not  despise  me?" 

"Mr.  Herbert!  How  can  you  think  such  a  thing  of 
me?     How  can  you  think  it  of  yourself?" 

"I  am  afraid  my  constant  self-mistrust  is  only  too 
convincing  a  proof  of  my  weakness.  I  sometimes 
despise  myself." 

"It  is  a  proof  of  your  artistic  sensibility.  You  do 
not  need  to  learn  from  me  that  all  the  great  artists 
have  left  passages  behind  them  proving  that  they  have 
felt  sometimes  as  you  feel  now.  Take  the  oars  again ; 
and  let  us  spin  down  to  the  bridge.  The  exercise  will 
cure  your  fancies." 

"Not  yet.  I  have  something  else  to  say.  Has  it 
occurred  to  you  that  if  by  any  accident — by  the 
forming  of  a  new  tie,  for  instance — your  sympathies 
came  to  be  diverted  from  me,  I  should  lose  the  only 
person  whose  belief  in  me  has  helped  me  to  believe  in 
myself?     How  utterly  desolate  I  should  be!" 

"Desolate!  Nonsense.  Some  day  you  will  exhaust 
the  variety  of  the  sympathy  you  compliment  me  so 
highly  upon.  You  will  find  it  growing  shallow  and 
monotonous ;  and  then  you  will  not  be  sorry  to  be  rid 
of  it." 

"I  am  quite  serious.  Mary:  I  have  felt  for  some 
time  past  that  it  is  neither  honest  nor  wise  in  me  to 
trifle  any  longer  with  my  only  chance  of  happiness. 
Will  you  become  engaged  to  me?  You  may  meet 
many  better  and  stronger  men  than  I,  but  none  who 
will  value  you  more  highly — perhaps  none  to  whose 
life  you  can  be  so  indispensable. ' ' 

There  was  a  pause,  Mary  being  too  full  of  the 
responsibility  she  felt  placed  upon  her  to  reply  at  once. 


28  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Of  the  ordinary  maidenly  embarassment  she  shewed 
not  a  trace. 

"Why  cannot  we  go  on  as  we  have  been  doing  so 
happily?"  she  said,  thoughtfully. 

"Of  course,  if  you  wish  it,  we  can.  That  is,  if  you 
do  not  know  your  own  mind  on  the  subject.  But  such 
happiness  as  there  may  be  in  our  present  indefinite 
relations  will  be  all  on  your  side. ' ' 

"It  seems  so  ungrateful  to  hesitate.  It  is  doubt  of 
myself  that  makes  me  do  so.  You  have  always 
immensely  overrated  me ;  and  I  should  not  like  you  to 
feel  at  some  future  day  that  you  had  made  a  mistake. 
When  you  are  famous,  you  will  be  able  to  choose 
whom  you  please,  and  where  you  please." 

"If  that  is  the  only  consideration  that  hinders  you, 
I  claim  your  consent.  Do  you  think  that  I,  too,  do 
not  feel  how  little  worthy  of  your  acceptance  my  offer 
is?  But  if  we  can  love  one  another,  what  does  all  that 
matter?  It  is  not  as  though  we  were  strangers:  we 
have  proved  one  another.  It  is  absurd  that  we  two 
should  say  'Mr.  Herbert'  and  'Miss  Sutherland',  as  if 
our  friendship  were  an  acquaintance  of  ceremony." 

"I  have  often  wished  that  you  would  call  me  Mary. 
At  home  we  always  speak  of  you  as  Adrian.  But  I 
could  hardly  have  asked  you  to,  could  I?" 

"I  am  sorry  you  did  not.  And  now,  will  you  give 
me  a  definite  answer?  Perhaps  I  have  hardly  made 
you  a  definite  offer ;  but  you  know  my  position.  I  am 
too  poor  with  my  wretched  ^300  a  year  to  give  you  a 
proper  home  at  present.  For  that  I  must  depend  on 
my  brush.  You  can  fancy  how  I  shall  work  when 
every  exertion  will  bring  my  wedding  day  nearer; 
though,  even  at  the  most  hopeful  estimate,  I  fear  I  am 


Love  Among  the  Artists  29 

condemning   you    to  a  long  engagement.     Are  you 
afraid  to  venture  on  it?" 

"Yes,  I  am  afraid;  but  only  lest  you  should  find  out 
the  true  worth  of  what  you  are  waiting  for.  If  you 
will  risk  that,  I  consent," 


CHAPTER   III 

On  one  of  the  last  days  of  July,  Mary  Sutherland 
was  in  her  father's  house  at  Windsor,  copying  a  sketch 
signed  A,  H.  The  room  had  a  French  window  open- 
ing on  a  little  pleasure  ground  and  shrubbery,  far 
beyond  which,  through  the  swimming  summer  atmos- 
phere, was  the  river  threading  the  distant  valley. 
But  Mary  did  not  look  that  way.  With  her  attention 
concentrated  on  a  stained  scrap  of  paper,  she  might 
have  passed  for  an  aesthetic  daughter  of  the  Man  with 
the  Muck  Rake.  At  last  a  shadow  fell  upon  the  draw- 
ing board.  Then  she  turned,  and  saw  a  tall,  hand- 
some lady,  a  little  past  middle  age,  standing  at  the 
window. 

"Mrs.  Herbert!"  she  exclaimed,  throwing  down  her 
brush,  and  running  to  embrace  the  new  comer.  "I 
thought  you  were  in  Scotland." 

"So  I  was,  until  last  week.  The  first  person  I  saw 
in  London  was  your  Aunt  Jane ;  and  she  has  persuaded 
me  to  stay  at  Windsor  with  her  for  a  fortnight.  How 
well  you  are  looking!  I  saw  your  portrait  in  Adrian's 
studio;  and  it  is  not  the  least  bit  like  you." 

"I  hope  you  did  not  tell  him  so.  Besides,  it  must 
be  like  me.     All  Adrian's  artistic  friends  admire  it. " 

"Yes;  and  he  admires  their  works  in  return.  It  is  a 
well  understood  bargain.  Poor  Adrian!  He  did  not 
know  that  I  was  coming  back  from  Scotland;  and  I 
gave  him  a  very  disagreeable  surprise  by  walking  into 
his  studio  on  Monday  afternoon." 

30 


Love  Among  the  Artists  31 

"Disagreeable!     I  am  sure  he  was  delighted." 

"He  did  not  even  pretend  to  be  pleased.  His 
manners  are  really  getting  worse  and  worse.  Who  is 
the  curious  person  that  opened  the  shrubbery  gate  for 
me? — a  sort  of  Cyclop  with  a  voice  of  bronze." 

"It  is  only  Mr.  Jack,  Charlie's  tutor.  He  has  noth- 
ing to  do  at  present,  as  Charlie  is  spending  a  fortnight 
at  Cambridge." 

"Oh,  indeed!  Your  Aunt  Jane  has  a  great  deal  to 
say  about  him.  She  does  not  like  him;  and  his 
appearance  rather  confirms  her,  I  must  say,  though  he 
has  good  eyes.     Whose  whim  was  Mr.  Jack,  pray?" 

"Mine,  they  say;  though  I  had  no  more  to  do  with 
his  being  engaged  than  papa  or  Charlie  had." 

"I  am  glad  Adrian  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Well, 
Mary,  have  you  any  news  for  me?  Has  anything 
wonderful  happened  since  I  went  to  Scotland?" 

"No.  At  least,  I  think  not.  You  heard  of  papa's 
aunt  Dorcas's  death." 

"That  was  in  April,  just  before  I  went  away.  I 
heard  that  you  left  London  early  in  the  season.  It  is 
childish  to  bury  yourself  down  here.  You  must  get 
married,  dear." 

Mary  blushed.  "Did  Adrian  tell  you  of  his  new 
plans?"  she  said. 

"Adrian  never  tells  me  anything.  And  indeed  I  do 
not  care  to  hear  of  any  plans  of  his  until  he  has,  once 
for  all,  given  up  his  absurd  notion  of  becoming  a 
painter.  Of  course  he  will  not  hear  of  that:  he  has 
never  forgiven  me  for  suggesting  it.  All  that  his  fine 
art  has  done  for  him  as  yet  is  to  make  him  dislike  his 
mother;  and  I  hope  it  may  never  do  worse." 

"But,  Mrs.  Herbert,  you  are  mistaken:  I  assure  you 


32  Love  Among  the  Artists' 

you  are  quite  mistaken.  He  is  a  little  sore,  perhaps, 
because  you  do  not  appreciate  his  genius ;  but  he  loves 
you  very  dearly, ' ' 

"Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  my  not  appreciating 
his  genius,  as  you  call  it,  my  dear.  I  am  not  one  bit 
prejudiced  against  art;  and  if  Adrian  had  the  smallest 
chance  of  becoming  a  good  painter,  I  would  share  my 
jointure  with  him  and  send  him  abroad  to  study.  But 
he  will  never  paint.  I  am  not  what  is  called  an 
aesthete ;  and  pictures  that  are  generally  understood  to 
be  the  perfection  of  modern  art  invariably  bore  me, 
because  I  do  not  understand  them.  But  I  do  under- 
stand Adrian's  daubs;  and  I  know  that  they  are 
invariably  weak  and  bad.  All  the  Royal  Academy 
could  not  persuade  me  to  the  contrary — though, 
indeed,  they  are  not  likely  to  try.  I  wish  I  could  make 
you  understand  that  anyone  who  dissuades  Adrian 
from  pursuing  art  will  be  his  best  friend.  Don't  you 
feel  that  yourself  when  you  look  at  his  pictures,  Mary?" 

"No,"  said  Mary,  fixing  her  glasses  and  looking 
boldly  at  her  visitor.     "I  feel  just  the  contrary." 

"Then  you  must  be  blind  or  infatuated.  Take  his 
portrait  of  you  as  an  example!  No  one  could 
recognize  it.  Even  Adrian  told  me  that  he  would 
have  destroyed  it,  had  you  not  forbidden  him ;  though 
he  was  bursting  with  suppressed  resentment  because 
I  did  not  pretend  to  admire  it." 

"I  believe  that  Adrian  will  be  a  great  man  yet,  and 
that  you  will  acknowledge  that  you  were  mistaken  in 
him." 

"Well,  my  dear,  you  are  young,  and  not  very  wise, 
for  all  your  cleverness.  Besides,  you  did  not  know 
Adrian's  father." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  33 

•'No;  but  I  know  Adrian — very  well,  I  think.  I 
have  faith  in  the  entire  worthiness  of  his  conceptions ; 
and  he  has  proved  that  he  does  not  grudge  the  hard 
work  which  is  all  that  is  requisite  to  secure  the  power 
of  executing  what  he  conceives.  You  cannot  expect 
him  to  be  a  great  painter  without  long  practice  and 
study." 

"I  do  not  understand  metaphysics,  Mary,  Con- 
ceptions and  executions  are  Greek  to  me.  But  I  know 
very  well  that  Adrian  will  never  be  happy  until  he  is 
married  to  some  sensible  woman.  And  married  he 
never  can  be  whilst  he  remains  an  artist." 

"Why?" 

"What  a  question!  How  can  he  marry  with  only 
three  hundred  a  year?  He  would  not  accept  an  allow- 
ance from  me,  even  if  I  could  afford  to  make  him  one ; 
for  since  we  disagreed  about  this  wretched  art,  he  has 
withdrawn  himself  from  me  in  every  possible  way, 
and  with  an  ostentation,  too,  which — natural  feeling 
apart — is  in  very  bad  taste.  He  will  never  add  a  penny 
to  his  income  by  painting :  of  that  I  am  certain ;  and 
he  has  not  enterprise  enough  to  marry  a  woman  with 
money.  If  he  persists  in  his  infatuation,  you  will  find 
that  he  will  drag  out  his  wife  waiting  for  a  success 
that  will  never  come.  And  he  has  no  social  talents. 
If  he  were  a  genius,  like  Raphael,  his  crotchets  would 
not  matter.  If  he  were  a  humbug,  like  his  uncle  John 
he  would  flourish  as  all  humbugs  do  in  this  wicked 
world.  But  Adrian  is  neither:  he  is  only  a  duffer, 
poor  fellow." 

Mary  reddened,  and  said  nothing. 

"Have  you  any  influence  over  him?"  said  Mrs. 
Herbert,  watching  her. 


34  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"If  I  had,"  replied  Mary  "I  would  not  use  it  to 
discourage  him." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that.  I  had  some  hope  that  you 
would  help  me  to  save  him  from  wasting  his  opportu- 
nities. Your  Aunt  Jane  has  been  telling  me  that  you 
are  engaged  to  him ;  but  that  is  such  an  old  story  now 
that  I  never  pay  any  attention  to  it. ' ' 

"Has  Adrian  not  told  you " 

"My  dear,  I  have  already  said  a  dozen  times  that 
Adrian  never  tells  me  anything.  The  more  important 
his  affairs  are,  the  more  openly  and  purposely  he 
excludes  me  from  them.  I  hope  you  have  not  been  so 
silly  as  to  rely  on  his  visions  of  fame  for  your  future 
support. ' ' 

"The  truth  is  that  we  have  been  engaged  since  last 
April.  I  v/anted  Adrian  to  write  to  you ;  but  he  said 
he  preferred  to  speak  to  you  about  it.  I  thought  he 
would  have  done  so  the  moment  you  returned.  How- 
ever, I  am  sure  he  had  good  reasons  for  leaving  me  to 
tell  you;  and  I  am  quite  content  to  wait  until  he  reaps 
the  reward  of  his  labor.  We  must  agree  to  differ 
about  his  genius.     I  have  perfect  faith  in  him." 

"Well,  Mary,  I  am  very  sorry  for  your  sake.  I  am 
afraid,  if  you  do  not  lose  patience  and  desert  him  in 
time,  you  will  live  to  see  all  your  own  money  spent, 
and  to  try  bringing  up  a  family  on  three  hundred  a 
year.  If  you  would  only  be  advised,  and  turn  him 
from  his  artistic  conceit,  you  would  be  the  best  wife 
in  England  for  him.  You  have  such  force  of  character 
— just  what  he  wants." 

Mary  laughed.  "You  are  so  mistaken  in  everything 
concerning  Adrian!"  she  said.  "It  is  he  who  has  all 
the  force  of  character:  I  am  only  his  pupil.     He  has 


Love  Among  the  Artists  35 

imposed  all  his  ideas  on  me,  more,  perhaps,  by  dint  of 
their  purity  and  truth  than  of  his  own  assertiveness ; 
for  he  is  no  dogmatist.  I  am  always  the  follower :  he 
the  leader. ' ' 

"All  very  fine,  Mary;  but  my  old-fashioned  common- 
sense  is  better  than  your  clever  modern  nonsense. 
However,  since  Adrian  has  turned  your  head,  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  wait  until  you  both  come  to  your 
senses.  That  must  be  your  Aunt  Jane  at  the  door. 
She  promised  to  follow  me  within  half  an  hour." 

Mary  frowned,  and  recovered  her  serenity  with  an 
effort  as  she  rose  to  greet  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Beatty,  an 
elderly  lady,  with  features  like  Mr.  Sutherland's  but 
fat  and  imperious.  She  exclaimed,  "I  hope  I've  not 
come  too  soon,  Mary.  How  surprised  you  must  have 
been  to  see  Mrs.  Herbert!" 

"Yes.  Mr.  Jack  let  her  into  the  shrubbery;  and 
she  appeared  to  me  at  the  window  without  a  word  of 
warning. ' ' 

"Mr.  Jack  is  a  nice  person  to  have  in  a  respectable 
house,"  said  Mrs.  Beatty  scornfully.  "Do  you  know 
where  I  saw  him  last?" 

"No,"  said  Mary  impatiently;  "and  I  do  not  want 
to  know.     I  am  tired  of  Mr.  Jack's  misdemeanors." 

"Misdemeanors!  I  call  it  scandal,  Mary.  A  per- 
fect disgrace!" 

"Dear  me!     What  has  he  done  now?' 

"You  may  well  ask.  He  is  at  present  shewing  him- 
self in  the  streets  of  Windsor  in  company  with 
common  soldiers,  openly  entering  the  taverns  with 
them." 

"O  Aunt  Jane!     Are  you  sure?" 

"Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  believe    my    own 


36  Love  Among  the  Artists 

senses.  I  drove  through  the  town  on  my  way  here — • 
you  know  what  a  small  town  is,  Mrs.  Herbert,  and  how 
everybody  knows  everybody  else  by  sight  in  it,  let 
alone  such  a  remarkable  looking  person  as  this  Mr. 
Jack;  and  the  very  first  person  I  saw  was  Private 
Charles,  the  worst  character  in  my  husband's  regiment, 
conversing  with  my  nephew's  tutor  at  the  door  of  the 
'Green  Man.'  They  went  into  the  bar  together 
before  my  eyes.  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  your  Mr. 
Jack?" 

"He  may  have  had  some  special  reason " 

"Special  reason!  Fiddlestick!  What  right  has  any 
servant  of  my  brother's  to  speak  to  a  profligate  soldier 
in  broad  daylight  in  the  streets?  There  can  be  no 
excuse  for  it.  If  Mr.  Jack,  had  a  particle  of  self-respect 
he  would  maintain  a  proper  distance  between  himself 
and  even  a  full  sergeant.  But  this  Charles  is  such  a 
drunkard  that  he  spends  half  his  time  in  cells.  He 
would  have  been  dismissed  from  the  regiment  long 
since,  only  he  is  a  bandsman;  and  the  bandmaster 
begs  Colonel  Beatty  not  to  get  rid  of  him,  as  he  can- 
not be  replaced." 

"If  he  is  a  bandsman,"  said  Mary,  "that  explains  it, 
Mr.  Jack  wanted  musical  information  from  him,  I 
suppose." 

"I  declare,  Mary,  it  is  perfectly  wicked  to  hear  you 
defend  such  conduct.  Is  a  public  house  the  proper 
place  for  learning  music?  Why  could  not  Mr.  Jack 
apply  to  your  uncle?  If  he  had  addressed  himself 
properly  to  me.  Colonel  Beatty  could  have  ordered  the 
man  to  give  him  whatever  information  was  required 
of  him." 

"I  must  say,  aunt,  that  you  are  the  last  person  I 


Love  Among  the  Artists  37 

should  expect  Mr/  Jack  to  ask  a  favor  from,  judging 
by  your  usual  manner  towards  him. " 

"There!"  said  Mrs.  Beatty,  turning  indignantly  to 
Mrs.  Herbert.  "That  is  the  way  I  am  treated  in  this 
house  to  gratify  Mr.  Jack.  Last  week  I  was  told  that 
I  was  in  the  habit  of  gossiping  with  servants,  because 
Mrs,  Williams'  housemaid  met  him  in  the  Park 
on  Sunday — on  Sunday,  mind — whistling  and  sing- 
ing and  behaving  like  a  madman.  And  now, 
when  Mary's  favorite  is  convicted  in  the  very  act  of 
carousing  with  the  lowest  of  the  low,  she  turns  it  off 
by  saying  that  I  do  not  know  how  to  behave  myself 
before  a  tutor. ' ' 

"I  did  not  say  so,  aunt;  and  you  know  that  very 
well. " 

"Oh,  well,  of  course  if  you  are  going  to  fly  out  at 
me " 

"I  am  not  flying  at  you,  aunt;  but  you  are  taking 
offence  without  the  least  reason;  and  you  are  making 
Mrs.  Herbert  believe  that  I  am  Mr.  Jack's  special 
champion — you  called  him  my  favorite.  The  truth  is, 
Mrs.  Herbert,  that  nobody  likes  this  Mr.  Jack ;  and  we 
only  keep  him  because  Charlie  makes  some  progress 
with  him,  and  respects  him.  Aunt  Jane  took  a  violent 
dislike  to  him ' ' 

"I,  Mary!  What  is  Mr.  Jack  to  me  that  I  should 
like  or  dislike  him,  pray?" 

" and  she  is  always  bringing  me  stories  of  his 

misdoings,  as  if  they  were  my  fault.  Then,  when  I 
try  to  defend  him  from  obvious  injustice,  I  am  accused 
of  encouraging  and  shielding  him." 

**So  you  do,"  said  Mrs.  Beatty. 

**I  say  whatever  I  can  for  him,"  said  Mary  sharply, 


38  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"because  I  dislike  him  too  much  to  condescend  to  join 
in  attacks  made  on  him  behind  his  back.  And  I  am 
not  afraid  of  him,  though  you  are,  and  so  is  Papa." 

**0h,  really  you  are  too  ridiculous,"  said  Mrs. 
Beatty.     "Afraid!" 

"I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert  smoothly,  "that  my 
acquaintance  the  Cyclop  has  made  himself  a  bone  of 
contention  here.  Since  you  all  dislike  him,  why  not 
dismiss  him  and  get  a  more  popular  character  in  his 
place?  He  is  really  not  an  ornament  to  your  establish- 
ment.    Where  is  your  father,  Mary?" 

"He  has  gone  out  to  dine  at  Eton;  and  he  will  not 
be  back  until  midnight.  He  will  be  so  sorry  to  have 
missed  you.    But  he  will  see  you  to-morrow,  of  course. ' ' 

"And  you  are  alone  here?" 

"Yes,     Alone  with  my  work. " 

"Then  what  about  our  plan  of  taking  you  back  with 
us  and  keeping  you  for  the  evening?" 

"I  think  I  would  rather  stay  and  finish  my  work." 

"Nonsense,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Beatty.  "You  can- 
not be  working  always.  Come  out  and  enjoy 
yourself. ' ' 

Mary  yielded  with  a  sigh,  and  went  for  her  hat. 

"I  am  sure  that  all  this  painting  and  poetry  reading 
is  not  good  for  a  young  girl, ' '  said  Mrs.  Beatty,  whilst 
Mary  was  away.  "It  is  very  good  of  your  Adrian  to 
take  such  trouble  to  cultivate  Mary's  mind;  but  so 
much  study  cannot  but  hurt  her  brain.  She  is  very 
self-willed  and  full  of  outlandish  ideas.  She  is  not 
under  proper  control.  Poor  Charles  has  no  more 
resolution  than  a  baby.  And  she  will  not  listen  to 
me,  alth " 

"I  am  ready,"  said  Mary,  returning. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  39 

"You  make  me  nervous — you  do  everything  so 
quickly,"  said  Mrs.  Beatty,  querulously.  "I  wish 
you  would  take  shorter  steps,"  she  added,  looking  dis- 
paragingly at  her  niece's  skirts  as  they  went  out 
through  the  shrubbery.  "It  is  not  nice  to  see  a  girl 
striding  like  a  man.  It  gives  you  quite  a  bold 
appearance  when  you  swing  along,  peering  at  people 
through  your  glasses. ' ' 

"That  is  an  old  crime  of  mine,  Mrs.  Herbert,"  said 
Mary.  "I  never  go  out  with  Aunt  Jane  without  being 
lectured  for  not  walking  as  if  I  had  high  heeled  boots. 
Even  the  Colonel  took  me  too  task  one  evening  here. 
He  said  a  man  should  walk  like  a  horse,  and  a  woman 
like  a  cow.  His  complaint  was  that  I  walked  like  a 
horse;  and  he  said  that  you,  aunt,  walked  properly, 
like  a  cow.  It  is  not  worth  any  woman's  while  to  gain 
such  a  compliment  as  that.  It  made  Mr.  Jack  laugh 
for  the  first  and  only  time  in  our  house." 

Mrs.  Beatty  reddened,  and  seemed  about  to  make 
an  angry  reply,  when  the  tutor  came  in  at  the  shrub- 
bery gate,  and  held  it  open  for  them  to  pass.  Mrs. 
Herbert  thanked  him.  Mrs.  Beatty,  following  her, 
tried  to  look  haughtily  at  him,  but  quailed,  and  made 
him  a  slight  bow,  in  response  to  which  he  took  off  his 
hat. 

"Mr.  Jack,"  said  Mary,  stopping:  "i^  papa  comes 
back  before  I  am  in,  will  you  please  tell  him  that  I 
am  at  Colonel  Beatty' s." 

"At  what  hour  do  you  expect  him?" 

"Not  until  eleven,  at  soonest.  I  am  almost  sure  to 
be  back  first;  but  if  by  any  chance  I  should  not 
be " 

"I  will  tell  him,"  said  Jack.     Mary  passed  on;  and 


40  Love  Among  the  Artists 

he  watched  them  until  Mrs,  Beatty's  carriage  disap- 
peared. Then  he  hurried  indoors,  and  brought  a  heap 
of  manuscript  music  into  the  room  the  ladies  had  just 
left.  He  opened  the  pianoforte  and  sat  down  before 
it ;  but  instead  of  playing  he  began  to  write,  occasion- 
ally touching  the  keys  to  try  the  effect  of  a  progression, 
or  rising  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room  with  puckered 
brows. 

He  labored  in  this  fashion  until  seven  o'clock,  when, 
hearing  someone  whistling  in  the  road,  he  went  out 
into  the  shrubbery,  and  presently  came  back  with  a 
soldier,  not  perfectly  sober,  who  carried  a  roll  of  music 
paper  and  a  case  containing  three  clarionets. 

**Now  let  us  hear  what  you  can  make  of  it,"  said 
Jack,  seating  himself  at  the  piano, 

"It's  cruel  quick,  that  allagrow  part  is,"  said  the 
soldier,  trying  to  make  his  sheet  of  music  stand 
properly  on  Mary's  table  easel,  "Just  give  us  your  B 
flat,  will  you,  Mister,"  Jack  struck  the  note;  and 
the  soldier  blew.  "Them  ladies'  singin'  pianos  is 
always  so  damn  low,"  he  grumbled.  "I've  drom  the 
slide  as  far  as  it'll  come.  Just  wait  while  I  stick  a 
washer  in  the  bloomin'  thing," 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  been  drinking  instead 
of  practising,  since  I  saw  you,"  said  Jack. 

"S'  help  me,  governor,  I've  been  practising  all  the 
a'ternoon,  I  on'y  took  a  glass  on  my  way  here  to  set 
me  to  rights.  Now,  Mister,  I'm  ready,"  Jack 
immediately  attacked  Mary's  piano  with  all  the  vigor 
of  an  orchestra ;  and  the  clarionet  soon  after  made  its 
entry  with  a  brilliant  cadenza.  The  soldier  was  a 
rapid  executant;  his  tone  was  fine;  and  the  only 
varieties  of  expression  he  was  capable  of,  the  spirited 


Love  Among  the  Artists  41 

and  the  pathetic,  satisfied  even  Jack,  who,  on  other 
points,  soon  began  to  worry  the  soldier  by  his 
fastidiousness. 

"Stop,"  he  cried.  "That  is  not  the  effect  I  want  at 
all.  It  is  not  bright  enough.  Take  the  other  clar- 
ionet.    Try  it  in  C." 

"Wot!  Play  all  them  flats  on  a  clarionet  in  C!  It 
can't  be  done.  Leastways  I'm  damn'd  if  I  can — 
Hello!     'Ere's  a  gent  for  you,  sir." 

Jack  turned.  Adrian  Herbert  was  standing  on  the 
threshold,  astonished,  holding  the  handle  of  the  open 
door.  "I  have  been  listening  outside  for  some  time," 
he  said  politely.     ' '  I  hope  I  do  not  disturb  you. ' ' 

"No,"  replied  Jack.  "Friend  Charles  here  is  worth 
listening  to.     Eh,  Mr.  Herbert?" 

Private  Charles  looked  down  modestly;  jingled  his 
spurs;  coughed;  and  spat  through  the  open  window. 
Adrian  did  not  appreciate  his  tone  or  his  execution ; 
but  he  did  appreciate  his  sodden  features,  his  weak 
and  husky  voice,  and  his  barrack  accent.  Seeing  a 
clarionet  and  a  red  handkerchief  lying  on  a  satin 
cushion  which  he  had  purchased  for  Mary  at  a  bazaar, 
the  looked  at  the  soldier  with  disgust,  and  at  Jack 
with  growing  indignation. 

"I  presume  there  is  no  one  at  home,"  he  said 
coldly. 

"Miss  Sutherland  is  at  Mrs.  Beatty's,  and  will  not 
return  until  eleven,"  said  Jack,  looking  at  Adrian 
with  his  most  rugged  expression,  and  not  subduing  his 
powerful  voice,  the  sound  of  which  always  afflicted 
the  artist  with  a  sensation  of  insignificance,  "Mrs. 
Beatty  and  a  lady  who  is  visiting  her  called  and 
brought  her  out   with   them.     Mr.   Sutherland  is    at 


42  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Eton,  and  will  not  be  back  till  midnight.     My  pupil 
is  still  at  Cambridge. ' ' 

"H'm!"  said  Adrian.  "I  shall  go  on  to  Mrs. 
Beatty's.  I  should  probably  disturb  you  by  re- 
maining." 

Jack  nodded  and  turned  to  the  piano  without  further 
ceremony.  Private  Charles  had  taken  one  of  Mary's 
paint-brushes  and  fixed  it  upon  the  desk  against  his 
sheet  of  music,  which  was  rolling  itself  up.  This  was 
the  last  thing  Herbert  saw  before  he  left.  As  he 
walked  away  he  heard  the  clarionet  begin  the  slow 
movement  of  the  concerto,  a  melody  which,  in  spite  of 
his  annoyance,  struck  him  as  quite  heavenly.  He 
nevertheless  hastened  out  of  earshot,  despising  the 
whole  art  of  music  because  a  half-drunken  soldier 
could  so  affect  him  by  it. 

Half  a  mile  from  the  Sutherlands'  house  was  a  gate, 
though  which  he  passed  into  a  flower-garden,  in  which 
a  tall  gentleman  with  sandy  hair  was  smoking  a  cigar. 
This  was  Colonel  Beatty,  from  whom  he  learnt  that 
the  ladies  were  in  the  drawing-room.  There  he  found 
his  mother  and  Mrs.  Beatty  working  in  colored  wools, 
whilst  Mary,  at  a  distance  from  them,  was  reading  a 
volume  of  Browning.  She  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he 
entered. 

"Is  this  your  usual  hour  for  making  calls?"  said 
Mrs.  Herbert,  in  response  to  her  son's  cool  "Good 
evening,  mother." 

"Yes,"  said  he.  "I  cannot  work  at  night."  He 
passed  on  and  sat  down  beside  Mary  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room.  Mrs.  Beatty  smiled  significantly  at  Mrs. 
Herbert,  who  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  went  on 
with  her  work. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  43 

"What  is  the  matter,  Adrian?"  said  Mary,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Why?" 

"You  look  annoyed." 

"I  am  not  annoyed.  But  I  am  not  quite  satisfied 
with  the  way  in  which  your  household  is  managed  in 
your  absence  by  Mr.  Jack." 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  Mary,  "you  too!  Am 
I  never  to  hear  the  last  of  Mr.  Jack?  It  is  bad  enough 
to  have  to  meet  him  every  day,  without  having  his 
misdeeds  dinned  into  my  ears  from  morning  till  night. " 

"I  think  an  end  should  be  put  to  such  a  state  of 
things,  Mary.  I  have  often  reproached  myself  for 
having  allowed  you  to  engage  this  man  with  so  little 
consideration.  I  thought  his  mere  presence  in  the 
house  could  not  affect  you — that  his  business  would  be 
with  Charlie  only.  My  experience  of  the  injury  that 
can  be  done  by  the  mere  silent  contact  of  coarse 
natures  with  fine  ones  should  have  taught  me  better. 
Mr.  Jack  is  not  fit  to  live  with  you,  Mary." 

"But  perhaps  it  is  our  fault.  He  has  no  idea  of  the 
region  of  thought  from  which  I  wish  I  never  had  to 
descend ;  but,  after  all,  we  have  no  fault  to  find  with 
him.  We  cannot  send  him  away  because  he  does  not 
appreciate  pictures." 

"No.  But  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  he  is  not 
quite  so  well-behaved  in  your  absence  as  he  is  when 
you  are  at  home.  When  I  arrived  to-night,  for 
instance,  I,  of  course,  went  straight  to  your  house. 
There  I  heard  a  musical  entertainment  going  forward. 
When  I  went  in  I  was  greeted  with  a  volley  of  oaths 
which  a  drunken  soldier  was  addressing  to  Jack.  The 
two  were  in  the  drawing-room  and  did  not  perceive  me 


44  Love  Among  the  Artists 

at  first,  Jack  being  seated  at  your  pianoforte, 
accompanying  the  soldier,  who  was  playing  a  flageolet. 
The  fellow  was  using  your  table  easel  for  a  desk,  and 
your  palette  knife  as  a  paper  weight  to  keep  his  music 
flat.  Has  Jack  your  permission  to  introduce  his 
military  friends  whenever  you  are  out?" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Mary,  reddening.  "I  never 
heard  of  such  a  thing.  I  think  Mr.  Jack  is  excessively 
impertinent. ' ' 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Mrs.  Beatty,  perceiving 
that  her  niece  was  vexed. 

"Nothing,  aunt,"  said  Mary  hastily.  "Please  do 
not  tell  Aunt  Jane,"  she  added  in  an  undertone  to 
Adrian. 

"Why  not?" 

"Oh,  she  will  only  worry  about  it.  Pray  do  not 
mention  it.     What  ought  we  to  do  about  it,  Adrian?" 

"Simply  dismiss  Mr.  Jack  forthwith?" 

"But Yes,   I  suppose  we  should.     The  only 

difficulty  is "  Mary  hesitated,  and  at  last  added, 

' '  I  am  afraid  he  will  think  that  it  is  out  of  revenge  for 
his  telling  Charlie  not  to  take  his  ideas  of  music  from 
my  way  of  playing  it,  and  because  he  despises  my 
painting." 

"Despises  your  painting!  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
he  has  been  insolent  to  you?  You  should  dismiss  him 
at  once.  Surely  such  fears  as  you  expressed  just  now 
have  no  weight  with  you,  Mary?" 

Mary  reddened  again,  and  said,  a  little  angrily,  "It 
is  very  easy  for  you  to  talk  of  dismissing  people, 
Adrian ;  but  if  you  had  to  do  it  yourself,  you  would 
feel  how  unpleasant  it  is. ' ' 

Adrian  looked  grave  and  did  not  reply.      After  a 


Love  Among  the  Artists  45 

short  silence  Mary  rose;  crossed  the  room  carelessly; 
and  began  to  play  the  piano.  Herbert,  instead  of 
sitting-  by  her  and  listening,  as  his  habit  was,  went  out 
and  joined  the  Colonel  in  the  garden. 

"What  have  you  quarrelled  about,  dear?"  said  Mrs. 
Herbert. 

"We  have  not  quarrelled,"  said  Mary.  "What 
made  you  think  that, ' ' 

"Adrian  is  offended." 

"Oh,  no.  At  least  I  cannot  imagine  why  he  should 
be." 

"He  is.  I  know  what  Adrian's  slightest  shrug 
signifies. ' ' 

Mary  shook  her  head  and  went  on  playing.  Adrian 
did  not  return  until  they  went  into  another  room  to 
sup.  Then  Mary  said  she  must  go  home ;  and  Herbert 
rose  to  accompany  her. ' ' 

"Good-night,  mother,"  he  said.  "I  shall  see  you 
to-morrow.  I  have  a  bed  in  the  town,  and  will  go 
there  directly  when  I  have  left  Mary  safely  at 
home."  He  nodded;  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Beatty 
and  the  Colonel;  and  went  out  with  Mary.  They 
walked  a  hundred  yards  in  silence.  Then  Mary 
said: 

"Are  you  offended,  Adrian?  Mrs.  Herbert  said  you 
were. ' ' 

He  started  as  if  he  had  been  stung.  "I  do  not 
believe  I  could  make  a  movement, ' '  he  replied  indig- 
nantly, "for  which  my  mother  would  not  find  some 
unworthy  motive.  She  never  loses  an  opportunity  to 
disparage  me  and  to  make  mischief." 

' '  She  does  not  mean  it,  Adrian.  It  is  only  that  she 
does  not  quite  understand  you.     You  sometimes  say 


46  Love  Among  the  Artists 

hard  things  of  her,  although  I  know  you  do  not  mean 
to  speak  unkindly." 

"Pardon  me,  Mary,  I  do.  I  hate  hypocrisy  of  all 
kinds ;  and  you  annoy  me  when  you  assume  any  tender- 
ness on  my  part  towards  my  mother.  I  dislike  her.  I 
believe  I  should  do  so  even  if  she  had  treated  me 
well,  and  shewed  me  the  ordinary  respect  which  I  have 
as  much  right  to  from  a  parent  as  from  any  other 
person.  Our  natures  are  antagonistic,  our  views  of 
life  and  duty  incompatible:  we  have  nothing  in 
common.  That  is  the  plain  truth ;  and  however  much 
it  may  shock  you,  unless  you  are  willing  to  accept  it 
as  unalterable,  I  had  rather  you  would  drop  the 
subject." 

"Oh,  Adrian,  I  do  not  think  it  is  right  to " 

"I  do  not  think,  Mary,  that  you  can  tell  me  anything 
concerning  what  is  called  filial  duty  that  I  am  not 
already  familiar  with.  I  cannot  help  my  likes  and  dis- 
likes: I  have  to  entertain  them  when  they  come  to  me, 
without  regard  to  their  propriety.  You  may  be  quite 
tranquil  as  far  as  my  mother's  feelings  are  concerned. 
My  undutiful  sentiments  afford  her  her  chief  delight 
— a  pretext  for  complaining  of  me. " 

Mary  looked  wistfully  at  him,  and  walked  on,  down- 
cast. He  stopped;  turned  towards  her  gravely;  and 
resumed : 

"Mary:  I  suspect  from  one  or  two  things  you  have 
said,  that  you  cherish  a  project  for  reconciling  me  to 
my  mother.  You  must  relinquish  that  idea.  I  myself 
exhausted  every  effort  to  that  end  long  ago.  I  dis- 
guised the  real  nature  of  my  feeling  towards  her  until 
even  self-deception,  the  most  persistent  of  all  forms  of 
illusion,   was  no  longer  possible.      In  those    days    I 


Love  Among  the  Artists  47 

should  have  hailed  your  good  offices  with  pleasure. 
Now  I  have  not  the  least  desire  to  be  reconciled  to 
her.  As  I  have  said,  we  have  nothing-  in  common: 
her  affection  would  be  a  burden  to  me.  Therefore 
think  no  more  of  it.  Whenever  you  wish  to  see  me  in 
my  least  amiable  mood,  re-open  the  subject,  and  you 
will  be  gratified." 

"I  shall  avoid  it  since  you  wish  me  to.  I  only 
wished  to  say  that  you  left  me  in  an  awkward  position 
to-day  by  not  telling  her  of  our  engagement. ' ' 

"True.  That  was  inconsiderate  of  me.  I  intended 
to  tell  her;  but  1  got  no  opportunity.  It  matters 
little ;  she  would  only  have  called  me  a  fool.  Did  you 
tell  her?" 

"Yes,  when  I  found  that  Aunt  Jane  had  told  her 
already. ' ' 

"And  what  did  she  say?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  She  reminded  me  that  you  were  not 
rich  enough  to  marry. ' ' 

"And  proclaimed  her  belief  that  I  should  never 
become  so  unless  I  gave  up  painting?" 

"She  was  quite  kind  to  me  about  it.  But  she  is  a 
little  prejudiced " 

"Yes,  I  know.  For  heaven's  sake  let  us  think  and 
talk  about  something  else.  Look  at  the  stars.  What 
a  splendid  dome  they  make  of  the  sky  now  that  there 
is  no  moon  to  distract  attention  from  them.  And  yet 
a  great  artist,  with  a  miserable  yard  of  canvas,  can 
move  us  as  much  as  that  vast  expanse  of  air  and  fire. " 

"Yes. — I  am  very  uncomfortable  about  Mr.  Jack, 
Adrian.  If  he  is  to  be  sent  away,  it  must  be  done 
before  Charlie  returns,  or  else  there  will  be  a  quarrel 
about  it.     But  then,  who  is  to  speak  to  him?     He  is  a 


48  Love  Among  the  Artists 

very  hard  person  to  find  fault  with;  and  very  likely 
papa  will  make  excuses  for  him  sooner  than  face  him 
with  a  dismissal.  Or,  worse  again,  he  might  give  him 
some  false  reason  for  sending  him  away,  in  order  to 
avoid  an  explosion ;  and  somehow  I  would  rather  do 
anything  than  condescend  to  tell  Mr.  Jack  a  story.  If 
he  were  anyone  else  I  should  not  mind  so  much." 

"There  is  no  occasion  to  resort  to  untruth,  which  is 
equally  odious,  no  matter  to  whom  it  is  addressed.  It 
was  agreed  that  his  engagement  should  be  terminable 
by  a  month's  notice  on  either  side.  Let  Mr.  Suther- 
land write  him  a  letter  giving  that  notice.  No  reason 
need  be  mentioned ;  and  the  letter  can  be  courteously 
worded,  thanking  him  for  his  past  services,  and  simply 
saying  that  Charlie  is  to  be  placed  in  other  hands. " 

"But  it  will  be  so  unpleasant  to  have  him  with  us 
for  a  month  under  a  sentence  of  dismissal." 

"Well,  it  cannot  be  helped.  There  is  no  alternative 
but  to  turn  him  out  of  the  house  for  misconduct.  * ' 

"That  is  impossible.  A  letter  will  be  the  best.  I 
wish  we  had  never  seen  him,  or  that  he  were  gone 
already.     Hush.     Listen  a  moment. " 

They  stopped.  The  sound  of  a  pianoforte  came  to 
their  ears. 

"He  is  playing  still,"  said  Mary.  "Let  us  go  back 
for  Colonel  Beatty.  He  will  know  how  to  deal  with 
the  soldier. ' ' 

"The  soldier  must  have  left  long  ago,"  said  Adrian. 
"I  can  hear  nothing  but  the  piano.  Let  us  go  in.  He 
is  within  his  bargain  as  far  as  his  own  playing  goes. 
He  stipulated  for  that  when  we  engaged  him. ' ' 

They  went  on.  As  they  neared  the  house,  grotesque 
noises  mingled  with  the  notes  of  the  pianoforte,     Mary 


Love  Among  the  Artists  49 

hesitated,  and  would  have  stopped  again ;  but  Adrian, 
with  a  stern  face,  walked  quickly  ahead.  Mary  had  a 
key  of  the  shrubbery ;  and  they  went  round  that  way, 
the  noise  becoming  deafening  as  they  approached. 
The  player  was  not  only  pounding  the  keyboard  so 
that  the  window  rattled  in  its  frame,  but  was  making 
an  extraordinary  variety  of  sounds  with  his  own 
larynx.  Mary  caught  Adrian's  arm  as  they  advanced 
to  the  window  and  looked  in.  Jack  was  alone,  seated 
at  the  pianoforte,  his  brows  knitted,  his  eyes  glisten- 
ing under  them,  his  wrists  bounding  and  rebounding 
upon  the  keys,  his  rugged  countenance  transfigured 
by  an  expression  of  extreme  energy  and  exaltation. 
He  was  playing  from  a  manuscript  score,  and  was 
making  up  for  the  absence  of  an  orchestra  by  imita- 
tions of  the  instruments.  He  was  grunting  and 
buzzing  the  bassoon  parts,  humming  when  the  violon- 
cello had  the  melody,  whistling  for  the  flutes,  singing 
hoarsely  for  the  horns,  barking  for  the  trumpets, 
squealing  for  the  oboes,  making  indesciibable  sounds 
in  imitation  of  clarionets  and  drums,  and  marking  each 
sforzando  by  a  toss  of  his  head  and  a  gnash  of  his 
teeth.  At  last,  abandoning  this  eccentric  orchestra- 
tion, he  chanted  with  the  full  strength  of  his  formi- 
dable voice  until  he  came  to  the  final  chord,  which  he 
struck  violently,  and  repeated  in  every  possible 
inversion  from  one  end  of  the  keyboard  to  the  other. 
Then  he  sprang  up,  and  strode  excitedly  to  and  fro 
in  the  room.  At  the  second  turn  he  saw  Herbert  and 
Mary,  who  had  just  entered,  staring  at  him.  He 
started,  and  stared  back  at  them,  quite  disconcerted. 

"I  fear  I  have  had  the  misfortune  to  disturb  you  a 
second  time,"  said  Herbert,  with  suppressed  anger. 


50  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"No,  said  Jack,  in  a  voice  strained  by  his  recent 
abuse  of  it,  "I  was  playing  by  myself.  The  soldier 
whom  you  saw  here  has  gone  to  his  quarters. "  As  he 
mentioned  the  soldier,  he  looked  at  Mary. 

"It  was  hardly  necessary  to  mention  that  you  were 
playing,"  said  Adrian.  "We  heard  you  at  a  con- 
siderable distance." 

Jack's  cheek  glowed  like  a  sooty  copper  kettle,  and 
he  looked  darkly  at  Herbert  for  a  moment.  Then,  with 
some  signs  of  humor  in  his  eye,  he  said,  "Did  you 
hear  much  of  my  performance?" 

"We  heard  quite  enough,  Mr.  Jack,"  said  Mary, 
approaching  the  piano  to  place  her  hat  on  it.  Jack 
quickly  took  his  manuscript  away  as  she  did  so.  "I 
am  afraid  you  have  not  improved  my  poor  spinet," 
she  added,  looking  ruefully  at  the  keys. 

"That  is  what  a  pianoforte  is  for,"  said  Jack 
gravely.  "It  may  have  suffered;  but  when  next  you 
touch  it  you  will  feel  that  the  hands  of  a  musician  have 
been  on  it,  and  that  its  heart  has  beaten  at  last."  He 
looked  hard  at  her  for  a  moment  after  saying  this,  and 
then  turned  to  Herbert,  and  continued,  "Miss  Suther- 
land was  complaining  some  time  ago  that  she  had 
never  heard  me  play.  Neither  had  she,  because  she 
usually  sits  here  when  she  is  at  home;  and  I  do  not 
care  to  disturb  her  then.  I  am  glad  she  has  been 
gratified  at  last  by  a  performance  which  is,  I  assure 
you,  very  characteristic  of  me.  Perhaps  you  thought 
it  rather  odd?" 

"I  did  think  so,"  said  Herbert,  severely. 

"Then,"  said  Jack,  with  a  perceptible  surge  of  his 
subsiding  excitement,  "I  am  fortunate  in  having 
escaped  all  observation    except  that  of   a  gentleman 


Love  Among  the  Artists  51 

who  understands  so  well  what  an  artist  is.  If  I  cannot 
compose  as  you  paint,  believe  that  it  is  because  the 
art  which  I  profess  lies  nearer  to  a  strong  man's  soul 
than  one  which  nature  has  endowed  you  with  the 
power  of — appreciating.  Good-night."  He  looked 
for  a  moment  at  the  two;  turned  on  his  heel;  and  left 
the  room.  They  stared  after  him  in  silence,  and  heard 
him  laugh  subduedly  as  he  ascended  the  stairs. 

"I  will  make  papa  write  to  him  to-morrow,"  said 
Mary,  when  she  recovered  herself.  "No  one  shall 
have  a  second  chance  of  addressing  a  sarcasm  to  you, 
Adrian,  in  my  father's  house,  whilst  I  am  mistress  of  it. '  * 

"Do  not  let  that  influence  you,  Mary.  I  am  not 
disposed  to  complain  of  the  man's  conceited  ignorance. 
But  he  was  impertinent  to  you." 

"I  do  not  mind  that." 

"But  I  do.  Nothing  could  be  more  grossly  insolent 
than  what  he  said  about  your  piano.  Many  of  his 
former  remarks  have  passed  with  us  as  the  effect  of  a 
natural  brusguerie,  which  he  could  not  help.  I  believe 
now  that  he  is  simply  ill-mannered  and  ill-conditioned. 
That  sort  of  thing  is  not  to  be  tolerated  for  one 
moment." 

"I  have  always  tried  to  put  the  best  construction  on 
his  actions,  and  to  defend  him  from  Aunt  Jane,"  said 
Mary.  "I  am  very  sorry  now  that  I  did  so.  The  idea 
of  his  calling  himself  an  artist!" 

"Musicians  often  arrogate  that  title  to  themselves," 
said  Herbert;  "and  he  does  not  seem  overburdened 
with  modesty.  I  think  I  hear  Mr.  Sutherland  letting 
himself  in  at  the  hall  door.  If  so,  I  need  not  stay  any 
longer,  unless  you  wish  me  to  speak  to  him  about 
what  has  occurred." 


52  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Oh  no,  not  to-night:  it  would  only  spoil  his  rest. 
I  will  tell  him  in  the  morning." 

Herbert  waited  only  to  bid  Mr.  Sutherland  good- 
night. Then  he  kissed  his  betrothed,  and  went  to  his 
lodging. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Two  days  later,  Mary  was  finishing  the  sketch  which 
Mrs.  Herbert  had  interrupted.  Something  was  wrong 
with  her:  at  every  sound  in  the  house  she  changed 
color  and  stopped  to  listen.  Suddenly  the  door  was 
opened ;  and  a  housemaid  entered,  rigid  with  indigna- 
tion. 

"Oh  Clara,  you  frightened  me.     What  is  it?" 

*'If  you  please,  Miss,  is  it  my  place  to  be  called 
names  and  swore  at  by  the  chootor?" 

' '  Why ?     What  has  happened ? ' ' 

* '  Master  gave  me  a  note  after  breakfast  to  give  Mr. 
J  ack,  Miss.  He  was  not  in  his  room  then ;  so  I  left  it 
on  the  table.  As  soon  as  I  heard  him  moving  about,  I 
went  and  asked  him  had  he  got  it.  The  answer  I 
got — begging  your  pardon.  Miss — was,  'Go  to  the 
devil,  you  jade.'  If.  I  am  expected  to  put  up  with 
that  from  the  likes  of  him,  I  should  wish  to  give 
warning. ' ' 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Clara.  Why  did  he  behave  so? 
Did  you  say  anything  rude  to  him?" 

"Not  likely,  Miss,  I  hope  I  respect  myself  more 
than  to  stop  and  bandy  words.  His  door  was  wide 
open;  and  he  had  his  portmanteau  in  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  and  was  heaping  his  things  into  it  as  fast  as 
he  could.  He  was  grinding  his  teeth,  too,  and  looked 
reg'lar  wicked." 

"Well,  Clara,  as  Mr.  Jack  will  be  leaving  very  soon, 
I  think  you  had  better  pass  it  over. " 

S3 


54  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Indeed,  Miss?     Is  Mr.  Jack  going?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mary,  turning  to  her  easel. 

"Oh!"  said  the  housemaid  slowly.  After  lingering 
a  moment  in  vain  for  further  information,  she  hastened 
to  the  kitchen  to  tell  the  news.  She  had  closed  the 
door;  but  it  did  not  fasten,  and  presently  a  draught 
from  an  open  window  in  the  hall  blew  it  softly  open. 
Though  Mary  wanted  it  shut,  so  that  Jack  should  not 
see  her  if  he  passed  on  his  way  out,  she  was  afraid  to 
stir.  She  had  never  been  so  unreasonably  nervous 
in  her  life  before;  and  she  sat  there  helplessly  pre- 
tending to  draw  until  she  heard  the  dreaded  footstep 
on  the  stairs.  Her  heart  beat  in  a  terrible  crescendo 
as  the  steps  approached;  passed;  stopped;  returned; 
and  entered  the  room.  When  she  forced  herself  to 
look  up,  he  was  standing  there  eyeing  her,  with  her 
father's  letter  in  his  hand. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  said. 

Mary  glanced  round  as  if  to  escape  from  his  eyes, 
but  had  to  look  at  him  as  she  replied  faintly,  "You 
had  better  ask  Mr.  Sutherland." 

"Mr.  Sutherland  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You 
are  mistress  here. ' ' 

He  waited  long  enough  for  an  answer  to  shew  that 
she  had  none  to  make.  Then,  shaking  his  head,  he 
deliberately  tore  the  letter  into  fragments.  That 
stung  her  into  saying: 

"I  do  not  wish  to  pursue  the  subject  with  you." 

"I  have  not  asked  your  leave,"  he  replied.  "I  give 
you  a  lesson  for  the  benefit  of  the  next  wretch  that 
v/ill  hold  my  position  at  the  mercy  of  your  ignorant 
caprice.  You  have  spoiled  the  labor  of  the  past  three 
months   for    me ;    upset    my  plans ;    ruined    me,    for 


Love  Among  the  Artists  55 

aught  I  know.  Tell  your  father,  who  wants  to  dis- 
charge me  at  the  end  of  the  month,  that  I  discharge 
myself  now.  I  am  not  a  dog,  to  sit  at  his  table  after 
the  injustice  he  has  done  me." 

"He  has  done  you  no  injustice,  Mr.  Jack,  He  has 
a  perfect  right  to  choose  who  shall  remain  in  his  house- 
hold. And  I  think  he  has  acted  rightly.  So  does  Mr. 
Herbert." 

Jack  laughed  gruffly.  **Poor  devil!"  he  said,  "he 
fancies  he  can  give  ideas  to  the  world  because  a  few 
great  men  have  given  some  to  him.  I  am  sorry  I  let 
his  stiff  manners  put  me  out  of  temper  with  him  the 
other  night.  He  hates  me  instinctively  because  he 
feels  in  me  what  he  misses  in  himself.  But  you  ought 
to  know  better.  Why,  he  hated  that  drunken  rascal 
I  had  here,  because  he  could  handle  his  clarinet  like 
a  man  with  stuff  in  him.  I  have  no  more  time  for 
talking  now.  I  have  been  your  friend  and  have 
worked  hard  with  your  brother  for  your  sake,  because 
I  thought  you  helped  me  to  this  place  when  I  was 
desperately  circumstanced.  But  now  I  shall  not  easily 
forgive  you."  He  shook  his  head  again  at  her,  and 
walked  out,  shutting  the  door  behind  him.  The  house- 
maid was  in  the  hall.  "My  portmanteau  and  a  couple 
of  other  things  are  on  the  landing  outside  my  door," 
he  said,  stopping  as  he  passed  her.  "You  will  please 
give  them  to  the  man  I  send." 

"And  by  whose  orders  am  I  to  trouble  myself  about 
your  luggage,  pray?" 

Jack  turned  and  slowly  advanced  upon  her  until  she, 
retreating,  stood  against  the  wall.  "By  my  orders, 
Mrs.  Boldface,"  he  said,  "Do  as  you  are  bid — and 
paid  for,  you  hussy." 


56  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Well,  certainly,"  began  the  housemaid,  as  he 
turned  away,  "that's " 

Jack  halted  and  looked  round  wickedly  at  her.  She 
retired  quickly,  grumbling-.  As  he  left  the  house, 
Herbert,  coming  in  at  the  gate,  was  surprised  to  see 
him  laughing  heartily ;  for  he  had  never  seen  him  in 
good  humor  before. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Jack,"  said  Adrian  as  they 
passed. 

"Goodbye,"  said  Jack,  derisively.  And  he  went  on. 
Before  Adrian  reached  the  doorstep,  he  heard  the 
other  roaring  with  laughter  in  the  road. 

Jack,  when  he  had  had  his  laugh  out,  walked  quickly 
away,  chuckling,  and  occasionally  shaking  his  fist  at 
the  sky.  When  he  came  to  Colonel  Beatty's  house,  he 
danced  fantastically  past  the  gate,  snapping  his  fingers. 
He  laughed  boisterously  at  this  performance  at  inter- 
vals until  he  came  into  the  streets.  Here,  under  the 
eye  of  the  town,  he  was  constrained  to  behave  himself 
less  remarkably;  and  the  constraint  made  him  so 
impatient  that  he  suddenly  gave  up  an  intention  he 
had  formed  of  taking  a  lodging  there,  and  struck  off  to 
the  railway  station  at  Slough. 

"When  is  there  a  train  to  London?"  he  said,  pre- 
senting himself  at  the  booking-office. 

"There's  one  going  now,"  replied  the  clerk  coolly. 

"Now!"  exclaimed  Jack.  "Give  me  a  ticket — third 
class — single." 

"Go  to  the  other  window.     First  class  only  here." 

"First  class,  then,"  cried  Jack,  exasperated. 
"Quick."     And  he  pushed  in  a  half  sovereign. 

The  clerk,  startled  by  Jack's  voice,  hastily  gave  him 
a  ticket  and  an  instalment  of  the  change.     Jack  left 


Love  Among  the  Artists  57 

the  rest,  and  ran  to  the  platform  just  in  time  to  hear 
the  engine  whistle. 

"Late,  sir.  You're  late,"  said  a  man  in  the  act  of 
slamming  the  barrier.  By  way  of  reply,  Jack  dragged 
it  violently  back  and  rushed  after  the  departing  train. 
There  was  a  shout  and  a  rush  of  officials  to  stop  him ; 
and  one  of  them  seized  him,  but,  failing  to  hold  him, 
was  sent  reeling  by  the  collision.  The  next  moment 
Jack  opened  the  door  of  a  first-class  carriage,  and 
plunged  in  in  great  disorder.  The  door  was  shut 
after  him  by  an  official,  who  stood  on  the  footboard  to 
cry  out,  "You  will  be  summonsd  for  this,  sir,  so  you 
shall.     You  shall  be  sum " 

"Go  to  the  deuce,"  retorted  Jack,  in  a  thundering 
voice.  As  the  man  jumped  off,  he  turned  from  the 
door,  and  found  himself  confronted  by  a  tall  thin  old 
gentleman,  sprucely  dressed,  who  cried  in  a  high 
voice : 

"Sir,  this  is  a  private  compartment.  I  have 
engaged  this  compartment.  You  have  no  business 
here." 

"You  should  have  had  the  door  locked  then,"  said 
Jack,  with  surly  humor,  seating  himself,  and  folding 
his  arms  with  an  air  of  concentrated  doggedness. 

"I — I  consider  your  intrusion  most  unwarrantable 
— most  unjustifiable,"  continued  the  the  gentleman. 

Jack  chuckled  too  obviously,  at  the  old  gentleman's 
curious  high  voice  and  at  his  discomfiture.  Then, 
deferring  a  little  to  white  hairs,  he  said,  "Well,  well: 
I  can  get  into  another  carriage  at  the  next  station, ' ' 

"You  can  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  sir,"  cried  the 
gentleman,  more  angrily  than  before.  "This  is  an 
express  train.     It  does  not  stop." 


58  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Then  I  do — where  I  am,"  said  Jack  curtly,  with  a 
new  and  more  serious  expression  of  indignation ;  for 
he  had  just  remarked  that  there  was  one  other  person 
in  the  carriage — a  young  lady. 

"I  will  not  submit  to  this,  sir.  I  will  stop  the 
train." 

"Stop  it  then,"  said  Jack,  scowling  at  him.  "But 
let  me  alone." 

The  gentleman,  with  flushes  of  color  coming  and 
going  on  his  withered  cheek,  turned  to  the  alarum  and 
began  to  read  the  printed  instructions  as  to  its  use. 

"You  had  better  not  stop  the  train,  father,"  said  the 
young  lady.  "You  will  only  get  fined.  The  half 
crown  you  gave  the  guard  does  not " 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  said  the  gentleman.  "I 
desire  you  not  to  speak  to  me,  Magdalen,  on  any  pre- 
text whatsoever."  Jack,  who  had  relented  a  little  on 
learning  the  innocent  relationship  between  his  fellow 
travelers,  glanced  at  the  daughter.  She  was  a  tall 
young  lady  with  chestnut  hair,  burnished  by  the  rays 
which  came  aslant  through  the  carriage  window.  Her 
eyes  were  bright  hazel ;  her  mouth  small,  but  with  full 
lips,  the  upper  one,  like  her  nose,  tending  to  curl 
upward.  She  was  no  more  than  twenty ;  but  in  spite 
of  her  youth  and  trivial  style  of  beauty,  her  manner 
was  self-reliant  and  haughty.  She  did  not  seem  to 
enjoy  her  journey,  and  took  no  pains  to  conceal  her 
ill-humor,  which  was  greatly  increased  by  the  rebuke 
which  her  father  had  addressed  to  her.  Her  costume 
of  maize  color  and  pale  blue  was  very  elegant,  and 
harmonized  admirably  with  her  fine  complexion. 
Jack  repeated  his  glance  at  short  intervals  until  he 
discovered  that  her  face  was  mirrored    in  the  window 


Love  Among  the  Artists  59 

next  which  he  sat.  He  then  turned  away  from  her, 
and  studied  her  appearance  at  his  ease. 

Meanwhile  the  g-entleman,  grumbling  in  an  under- 
tone, had  seated  himself  without  touching  the  alariim, 
and  taken  up  a  newspaper.  Occasionally  he  looked 
over  at  his  daughter,  who,  with  her  cheek  resting  on 
her  glove,  was  frowning  at  the  landscape  as  they 
passed  swiftly  through  it.  Presently  he  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  impatience,  and  blew  off  some  dust  and 
soot  which  had  just  settled  on  his  paper.  Then  he 
rose,  and  shut  the  window. 

"Oh,  pray  don't  close  it  altogether,  father,"  said 
the  lady.  "It  is  too  warm.  I  am  half  suffocated  as 
it  is." 

"Magdalen:  I  forbid  you  to  speak  to  me."  Mag- 
dalen pouted,  and  shook  her  shoulders  angrily.  Her 
father  then  went  to  the  other  door  of  the  carriage,  and 
closed  the  window  there  also.  Jack  instantly  let  it 
down  with  a  crash,  and  stared  truculently  at  him. 

"Sir,"  said  the  gentleman:  "if,  you — if  sir — had 
you  politely  requested  me  not  to  close  the  window,  I 
should  not  have — I  would  have  respected  your 
objection." 

"And  if  you,  sir,"  returned  Jack,  "had  politely 
asked  my  leave  before  meddling  with  my  window,  I 
should,  with  equal  politeness,  have  conveyed  to  you 
my  invincible  determination  to  comply  with  the  lady's 
reasonable  request." 

"Ha!  Indeed!"  said  the  gentleman  loftily.  "I 
shall  not — ah — dispute  the  matter  with  you."  And  he 
resumed  his  seat,  whilst  his  daughter,  who  had  looked 
curiously  at  Jack  for  a  moment,  turned  again  to  the 
landscape  with  her  former  chagrined  expression. 


6o  Love  Among  the  Artists 

For  some  time  after  this  they  travelled  in  peace: 
the  old  gentleman  engaged  with  his  paper:  Jack 
chuckling  over  his  recent  retort.  The  speed  of  the 
train  now  increased ;  and  the  musician  became  exhil- 
arated as  the  telegraph  poles  shot  past,  hardly  visible. 
When  the  train  reached  a  part  of  the  line  at  which  the 
rails  were  elevated  on  iron  chairs,  the  smooth  grinding 
of  the  wheels  changed  to  a  rhythmic  clatter.  The 
racket  became  deafening;  and  Jack's  exhilaration  had 
risen  to  a  reckless  excitement,  when  he  was  recalled 
to  his  senses  by  the  gentleman,  whom  he  had  forgot- 
ten, calling  out: 

"Sir:  will  you  oblige  me  by  stopping  those  in-femsil 
noises." 

Jack,  confused,  suddenly  ceased  to  grind  his  teeth 
and  whistle  through  them.  Then  he  laughed  and 
said  good-humoredly,  "I  beg  your  pardon:  I  am  a 
composer." 

"Then  have  the  goodness  to  remember  that  you  are 
not  now  in  a  printing  office,"  said  the  gentleman, 
evidently  supposing  him  to  be  a  compositor.  "You 
are  annoying  this  lady,  and  driving  me  distracted  with 
your  hissing." 

"I  do  not  mind  it  in  the  least,"  said  the  lady 
stubbornly. 

"Magdalen:  I  have  already  desired  you  twice  to  be 
silent. ' ' 

"I  shall  speak  if  I  please,"  she  muttered.  Her 
father  pretended  not  to  hear  her,  and  sat  still  for  the 
next  ten  minutes,  during  which  he  glanced  at  Jack 
several  times,  with  an  odd  twinkle  in  his  eye.  Then 
he  said: 

"What  did  you  say  you  were,  sir,  may  I  ask?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  6i 


*t> 


•*A  composer." 

"You  are  a  discom poser,  sir,"  cried  the  old  gentle- 
man promptly.  "You  are  a  discomposer. "  And  he 
began  a  chirping  laughter,  which  Jack,  after  a  pause 
of  wonder,  drowned  with  a  deeptoned  roar  of  merri- 
ment. Even  the  lady,  determined  as  she  was  to  be 
sulky,  could  not  help  smiling.  Her  father  then  took 
up  the  newspaper,  and  hid  his  face  with  it,  turning  his 
back  to  Jack,  who  heard  him  occasionally  laughing  to 
himself. 

"I  wish  I  had  something  to  read,"  said  the  young 
lady  after  some  time,  turning  discontentedly  from  the 
window. 

"A  little  reflexion  will  do  you  no  harm,"  said  her 
parent.  "A  little  reflexion,  and,  I  will  add,  Mag- 
dalen, a  little  repentance  perhaps." 

"I  have  nothing  but  disappointment  and  misery  to 
reflect  about,  and  I  have  no  reason  to  be  repentant. 
Please  get  me  a  novel  at  the  next  station — or  give  me 
some  money,  and  I  will  get  one  myself." 

"Certainly  not.  You  are  not  to  be  trusted  with 
money.  I  forbid  you  ever  to  open  a  novel  again.  It 
is  from  such  pestilential  nonsense  that  you  got  the 
ideas  which  led  to  your  present  disgraceful  escapade. 
Now,  I  must  beg  of  you  not  to  answer  me,  Magdalen. 
I  do  not  wish  to  enter  into  a  discussion  with  you,  par- 
ticularly before  strangers." 

"Then  do  not  make  strangers  believe  that " 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Magdalen.  Do  you  disobey  me 
intentionally?  You  should  be  ashamed  to  speak  to 
me." 

The  young  lady  bit  her  lip  and  reddened.  "I  think 
— "  she  began. 


62  Love  Among  the  Artists 

'  *  Be  silent, ' '  cried  her  father,  seizing  his  umbrella  and 
rapping  it  peremptorily  on  the  floor.     Jack  sprang  up. 

"Sir,"  he  said:  "how  dare  you  behave  so  to  a  lady?" 

"This  lady  is  my  daughter,  k —  k —  confound  your 
impertinence,"  replied  the  other  irascibly. 

"Then  don't  treat  her  as  if  she  were  your  dog," 
retorted  Jaclc.  "I  am  an  artist,  sir — an  artist — a 
poet;  and  I  will  not  permit  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman  to  be  tyrannized  over  in  my  presence." 

"If  I  were  a  younger  man,"  began  the  gentleman, 
grasping  his  umbrella 

"If  you  were,"  shouted  Jack,  "you  would  have 
nothing  but  tenderness  and  respect  for  the  lady;  or 
else,  by  the  power  of  sound,  I  would  pulverize  you — 
allegro  martellatissimo — on  the  spot." 

"Do  not  threaten  me,  sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman 
spiritedly,  rising  and  confronting  his  adversary. 
"What  right  have  you  to  interfere  with  the  affairs  of 
strangers — perfect  strangers?  Are  you  mad,  sir;  or 
are  you  merely  ignorant?" 

"Neither.  I  am  as  well  versed  in  the  usages  of  the 
world  as  you ;  and  I  have  sworn  not  to  comply  with 
them  when  they  demand  a  tacit  tolerance  of  oppres- 
sion. The  laws  of  society,  sir,  are  designed  to  make 
the  world  easy  for  cowards  and  liars.  And  lest  by  the 
infirmity  of  iny  nature  I  should  become  either  the 
one  or  the  other,  or  perhaps  both,  I  never  permit 
myself  to  witness  tyranny  without  rebuking  it,  or  to 
hear  falsehood  without  exposing  it.  If  more  people 
were  of  my  mind,  you  would  never  have  dared  to  take 
it  for  granted  that  I  would  witness  your  insolence  to- 
wards your  daughter  without  interfering  to  protect  her. ' ' 

To  this  speech  the  old  gentleman  could  find  no  reply. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  63 

He  stared  at  Jack  a  few  moments,  and  then,  saying, 
"I  request  you  to  mind  your  own  business,  sir.  I 
have  nothing  to  say  to  you,"  went  back  in  dudgeon  to 
his  seat.  The  lady  then  leaned  forward  and  said 
haughtily,  "Your  interference  is  quite  unnecessary, 
thank  you.     I  can  take  care  of  myself. ' ' 

"Aye,"  retorted  Jack,  frowning  at  her:  "you  are 
like  other  children.  I  was  not  such  a  fool  as  to  expect 
gratitude  from  you."  The  girl  blushed  and  looked 
away  towards  the  landscape.  Her  father  again  stared 
at  Jack,  who  resumed  his  seat  with  a  bounce ;  folded 
his  arms;  and  glowered.  Five  minutes  later  the  train 
stopped ;  and  the  guard  came  for  their  tickets. 

"I  relied  on  you,"  said  the  gentleman  to  him,  for 
an  empty  carriage.  Instead  of  that,  I  have  had  a  most 
unpleasant  journey.  I  have  been  annoyed — damnably 
annoyed." 

"Ha!  ha!"  roared  Jack.     "Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

The  guard  turned  sternly  to  him,  and  said,  "Ticket, 
sir,  please,"  as  though  he  expected  the  ticket  to  prove 
a  third  class  one.  When  he  received  it  he  held  it 
between  his  lips,  whilst  he  opened  a  memorandum  and 
then  continued,  "I  want  your  name  and  address,  sir, 
please." 

"What  for?" 

"Forgetting  in  when  the  train  was  in  motion,  sir, 
at  Slough.  The  Company's  orders  are  strict  against 
it.     You  might  have  been  killed,  sir." 

"And  what  the  devil  is  it  to  the  Company  whether 
I  am  killed  or  not?" 

"Be  quick,  sir,  please,"  said  the  guard,  uncertain 
whether  to  coax  or  be  peremptory.     "Our  time  is  up. " 

Jack  looked  angry  for  a  moment;  then  shrugged  his 


64  Love  Among  the  Artists 

shoulders  and  said,  **My  name  is  Jack;  and  I  live 
nowhere." 

The  man  let  his  book  fall  to  his  side,  and  mutely- 
appealed  to  the  old  gentleman  to  witness  the  treat- 
ment he  was  enduring.  "Come,  sir,"  he  said,  "what's 
the  use  in  this?  We'll  only  have  to  detain  you;  and 
that  won't  be  pleasant  for  either  of  us." 

"Is  that  a  threat?"  said  Jack  fiercely. 

"No,  sir,  no.  There's  no  one  threatening  you. 
We're  all  gentlemen  here.  I  only  do  my  duty,  as 
you  understand,  sir — none  better.  What  is  your 
name,  sir?" 

"My  name  is  Jack,  I  tell  you.     Mr.  Owen  Jack," 

"Oh!  I  didn't  take  it  rightly  at  first.  Now  your 
address,  sir,  please." 

"I  have  none.  Did  you  never  hear  of  a  man  with- 
out any  home?  If  the  place  where  I  slept  last  night, 
and  where  my  property  is,  will  do  you,  you  can  put 
down  care  of  Mr.  Charles  Sutherland,  Beulah, 
Windsor.     Here's  a  card  for  you. " 

"I  know  Mr.  Sutherland  well,  sir,"  said  the  guard, 
putting  up  his  book.     "Thank  you." 

"And  by  Heaven,"  said  Jack  vehemently,  "if  I  hear 
another  word  of  this,  I  will  complain  of  you  for  taking 
half-a-crown  from  this  gentleman  and  then  shutting 
me  and  a  lady  in  with  him  for  a  whole  journey.  I 
believe  him  to  be  insane." 

"Guard,"  screamed  the  old  gentleman,  quite  beside 
himself.  But  the  guard,  disconcerted  at  Jack's  allusion 
to  the  half-crown,  hurried  away  and  started  the  train. 
Nevertheless  the  gentleman  would  not  be  silenced. 
"How  dare  you,  sir,  speak  of  me  as  being  insane?" 
he  said. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  65 

"How  dare  you,  sir,  grumble  at  a  journey  which  has 
only  been  marred  by  your  own  peevishness?  I  have 
enjoyed  myself  greatly.  I  have  enjoyed  the  sunshine, 
the  scenery,  the  rhythm  of  the  train,  and  the  company 
of  my  fellow  travellers — except  you,  sir;  and  even 
your  interruptions  are  no  worse  than  untimely 
pleasantries,  I  never  enjoyed  a  journey  more  in  my 
life." 

'*You  are  the  most  impertinent  man  I  ever  met, 
sir." 

"Precisely  my  opinion  of  you,  sir.  You  commenced 
hostilities ;  and  if  you  have  caught  a  Tartar  you  have 
only  yourself  to  thank." 

"You  broke  into  my  carriage " 

"Your  carriage,  sir!  My  carriage  just  as  much  as 
yours — more  so.     You  are  an  unsocial  person,  sir. ' ' 

"Enough  said,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman.  "It  does 
not  matter.     Enough  said,  if  you  please. ' ' 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Jack,  more  good  humoredly,  "I 
apologize.  I  have  been  unnaturally  repressed  for  the 
last  three  months ;  and  I  exploded  this  morning  like  a 
bombshell.  The  force  of  the  explosion  was  not  quite 
spent  when  I  met  you;  and  perhaps  I  had  less  regard 
for  your  seniority  than  I  might  have  shewn  at  another 
time." 

"My  seniority  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question, 
sir.     My  age  is  no  concern  of  yours." 

"Hush,  father, "  whispered  the  lady.  "Do  not  reply 
to  him.      It  is  not  dignified. " 

The  old  gentleman  was  about  to  make  some  angry 
reply,  when  the  train  ran  alongside  the  platform  at 
Paddington,  and  a  porter  opened  the  door,  crying, 
"Ensom  or  foa'  w'eol,  sir," 


66  Love  Among  the  Artists 

*'Get  me  a  hansom,  porter." 

"Right,  sir.     Luggage,  sir?" 

"There  is  a  tin  box,"  said  the  lady,  "a  brown  one 
with  the  initials  M.  B.  on  it." 

The  porter  touched  his  cap  and  went  away.  The 
gentleman  got  out,  and  waited  with  his  daughter  at  the 
carriage  door,  awaiting  the  return  of  the  porter.  Jack 
slowly  followed,  and  stood,  irresolute,  near  them,  the 
only  person  there  without  business  or  destination. 

"I  wonder  what  is  delaying  that  fellow  with  our 
cab,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  after  about  fifteen 
seconds.  "The  vagabond  has  been  picked  up  by 
someone  else,  and  has  forgotten  us.  Are  we  to  stand 
here  all  day?" 

"He  will  be  here  presently,"  said  Magdalen.  "He 
has  not  had  time " 

"He  has  had  time  to  call  twenty  cabs  since.  Remain 
here  until  I  return,  Madge.     Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl.  He  looked  severely  at  her, 
and  walked  away  towards  the  luggage  van.  Her 
color  rose  as  she  looked  after  him.  Meanwhile  the 
porter  had  placed  the  box  on  a  cab;  and  he  now 
returned  to  Magdalen. 

"This  way.  Miss.     W'ere's  the  gen'lman?" 

She  looked  quickly  at  the  porter;  then  towards  the 
crowd  in  which  her  father  had  disappeared;  then, 
after  a  moment  of  painful  hesitation,  at  Jack,  who  was 
still  standing  near. 

"Never  mind  the  gentleman,"  she  said  to  the 
porter:  "he  is  not  coming  with  me."  And  as  he 
turned  to  lead  the  way  to  the  cab,  she  pulled  off  her 
glove;  took  a  ring  from  her  finger;  and  addressed  Jack 
with  a  burning  but  determined  face. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  d'j 

"I  have  no  money  to  pay  for  my  cab.  Will  you 
give  me  some  in  exchange  for  this  ring — a  few  shil- 
lings will  be  enough?  Pray  do  not  delay  me.  Yes  or 
no?" 

Jack  lost  only  a  second  in  staring  amazedly  at  her 
before  he  thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  drew  out 
a  quantity  of  gold,  silver  and  bronze  coin,  more  than 
she  could  grasp  with  ease.  "Keep  the  ring,"  he  said. 
"Away  with  you." 

"You  must  take  it,"  she  said  impatiently.  "And  I 
do  not  need  all  this  mon " 

"Thousand  thunders!"  exclaimed  Jack  with  sudden 
excitement,  "here  is  your  father.     Be  quick." 

She  looked  round,  scared;  but  as  Jack  pushed  her 
unceremoniously  towards  the  cab,  she  recovered  her- 
self and  hurried  into  the  hansom. 

"Here,  porter:  give  this  ring  to  that  gentleman," 
she  said,  giving  the  man  a  shilling  and  the  ring. 
"Why  doesn't  he  drive  on?"  she  added,  as  the  cab 
remained  motionless,  and  the  porter  stood  touching 
his  cap. 

"Where  to,  Miss?" 

"Bond  Street,"  she  cried.  "As  fast  as  possible. 
Do  make  him  start  at  once." 

"Bond  Street,"  shouted  Jack  commandingly  to  the 
driver.  "Make  haste.  Double  fare.  Prestissimo!" 
And  the  cab  dashed  out  of  the  station  as  if  the  horse 
had  caught  Jack's  energy. 

"The  lady  gev  me  this  for  you,  sir,"  said  the  porter. 

"Yes,"  said  Jack,  "Thank  you."  It  was  an  old- 
fashioned  ring,  with  a  diamond  and  three  emeralds,  too 
small  for  his  little  finger.  He  pocketed  it,  and  was 
considering  what  he  should  do  next,    when  the  old 


68  Love  Among  the  Artists 


o 


gentleman,  no  longer  impatient  and  querulous,  but 
pale  and  alarmed,  came  by,  looking  anxiously  about 
him.  When  he  saw  Jack  he  made  a  movement  as 
though  to  approach  him,  but  checked  himself  and 
resumed  his  search  in  another  direction.  Jack  began 
to  feel  some  compunction;  for  the  gentleman's 
troubled  expression  was  changing  into  one  of  grief  and 
fear.  The  crowd  and  bustle  were  diminishing.  Soon 
there  was  no  difficulty  in  examining  separately  all  the 
passengers  who  remained  on  the  platform.  Jack 
resolved  to  go,  lest  he  should  be  tempted  to  betray 
the  young  lady's  destination  to  her  father;  but  he  had 
walked  only  a  few  yards,  when,  hearing  a  voice  behind 
him  say,  "This  is  him,  sir,"  he  turned  and  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  the  old  gentleman.  The 
porter  stood  by,  saying,  "How  could  I  know,  sir?  I 
see  the  gen'lman  in  the  carriage  with  you;  an'  I  see 
the  lady  speakin'  to  him  arterwards.  She  took  money 
off  him,  and  gev  him  a  ring,  as  I  told  you.  If  you'd 
left  the  luggage  to  me,  sir,  'stead  of  going  arter  it  to 
the  wrong  van,  you  wouldn't  ha'  lost  her." 

"Very  well:  that  will  do."  The  porter  made  a 
pretence  of  retiring,  but  remained  within  hearing. 
"Now,  sir,"  continued  the  gentleman,  addressing 
Jack,  "I  know  what  you  are.  If  you  don't  tell  me  at 
once — at  once,  the  name  and  address  of  the  theatrical 
scoundrels  to  whom  you  are  spy  and  kidnapper:  by — 
by — by  God!     I'll  give  you  to  the  nearest  policeman." 

"Sir,"  said  Jack  sternly:  "if  your  daughter  has  run 
away  from  you,  it  is  your  own  fault  for  not  treating 
her  kindly.  The  porter  has  told  you  what  happened 
between  us.  I  know  no  more  of  the  matter  than  he 
does." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  69 

"I  don't  believe  you.  You  followed  her  from 
Windsor.  The  porter  saw  you  give  her"  (here  the 
old  gentleman  choked) — "saw  what  passed  here  just 
now. ' ' 

"Yes,  sir.  You  leave  your  daughter  penniless,  and 
compel  her  to  offer  her  ornaments  for  sale  to  a 
stranger  at  a  railway  station.  By  my  soul,  you  are 
a  nice  man  to  have  charge  of  a  young  girl." 

My  daughter  is  incapable  of  speaking  to  a  stranger. 
You  are  in  the  pay  of  one  of  those  infernal  theatrical 
agents  with  whom  she  has  been  corresponding.  But 
I'll  unmask  you,  sir.     I'll  unmask  you." 

"If  you  were  not  an  inveterately  wrongheaded  old 
fool,"  said  Jack  hotly,  "you  would  not  mistake  a 
man  of  genius  for  a  crimp.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  your  temper.  You  are  collecting  a  crowd  too.  Do 
you  want  the  whole  railway  staff  to  know  that  you 
have  driven  your  daughter  away?" 

"You  lie,  you  villain,"  cried  the  gentleman,  seizing 
him  by  the  collar,  "you  lie.  How  dare  you,  you — you 
— pock-marked  ruffian,  say  that  I  drove  away  my 
daughter?  I  have  been  invariably  kind  to  her — no 
parent  more  so.     She  was  my  special  favorite.      If 

you  repeat  that  slander,  I'll — I'll "     He  shook  his 

fist  in  Jack's  face,  and  released  him.  Jack,  who  had 
suffered  the  grasp  on  his  collar  without  moving, 
turned  away  deeply  offended,  and  buttoned  his  coat. 
Then,  as  the  other  was  about  to  recommence,  he 
interrupted  him  by  walking  away.  The  gentleman 
followed  him  promptly. 

"You  shall  not  escape  by  running  off,"  he  said, 
panting. 

"You  have  insulted  me,  sir,"  said  Jack.     "If  you 


70  Love  Among  the  Artists 

address  another  word  to  me,  I'll  hand  you  to  the 
police.  As  I  cannot  protect  myself  against  a  man  of 
your  years,  I  will  make  the  law  protect  me." 

The  gentleman  hesitated.  Then  his  eyes  bright- 
ened; and  he  said,  "Then  call  the  police.  Call  them 
quickly.  You  have  a  ring  of  mine  about  you — an 
heirloom  of  my  family.  You  shall  acount  for  it.  Ah! 
I  have  you  now,  you  vagabond. ' ' 

"Pshaw!"  said  Jack,  recovering  from  a  momentary 
check,  "she  sent  me  the  ring  by  the  hands  of  that 
porter,  although  I  refused  it.  I  might  as  well  accuse 
her  of  stealing  my  money." 

"It  shall  be  refunded  at  once,"  said  the  gentleman, 
reddening  and  pulling  out  his  purse.  "How  much  did 
you  give  her?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  said  Jack  with  scorn.  "I 
do  not  count  what  I  give  to  women  who  are  in  need. 
I  gave  her  what  I  found  in  my  pocket.  Are  you  will- 
ing to  give  me  what  you  find  in  yours?" 

"By  heaven,  you  are  an  incredibly  impudent 
swindler,"  cried  the  gentleman,  looking  at  him  with 
inexpressible  feelings. 

"Come,  gentlemen,"  said  an  official,  advancing 
between  them,  "couldn't  you  settle  your  little 
difference  somewhere  else?" 

"I  am  a  passenger,"  said  Jack;  "and  am  endeavor- 
ing to  leave  the  station.  If  it  is  your  business  to  keep 
order  here,  T  wish  you  would  rid  me  of  this  gentle- 
man. He  has  annoyed  me  ever  since  the  train  started 
from  Slough." 

"I  am  in  a  most  painful  position,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  with  emotion.  "I  have  lost  my  child  here; 
and  this  man  knows  her  whereabouts.     He  will  tell 


Love  Among  the  Artists  71 

me  nothing;  and  I — I  don't  know  what  to  do." 
Then,  turning  to  Jack  with  a  fresh  explosion  of 
wrath,  he  cried,  "Once  for  all,  you  villain,  will  you 
tell  me  who  your  emplo5'-ers  are?" 

"Once  for  all,"  replied  Jack,  "I  will  tell  you  noth- 
ing, because  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you.  You  refuse 
to  believe  me;  you  are  infernally  impertinent  to  me; 
you  talk  about  my  employers  and  of  spying  and 
kidnapping:  I  think  you  are  mad." 

"Are  you  not  a  theatrical  agent?     Answer  that." 

"No.  I  am  not  a  theatrical  agent.  As  I  told  you 
before,  I  am  a  composer  and  teacher  of  music.  If  you 
have  any  pupils  for  me,  I  shall  be  glad  to  teach  them : 
if  not,  go  your  way,  and  let  me  go  mine.  I  am  tired 
of  you. ' ' 

"There,  sir,"  said  the  official,  "the  gentleman  can't 
answer  you  no  fairer  nor  that.  If  you  have  a  charge 
to  make  against  him,  why,  charge  him.  If  not,  as  he 
says,  you  had  better  move  on.  Let  me  call  you  a  cab, 
and  you  can  follow  the  young  lady.  That's  the  best 
thing  you  can  do.  She  might  run  as  far  as  Scotland 
while  you're  talking.  Send  down  a  'ansom  there,  Bill, 
will  you?" 

The  man  laid  his  hand  persuasively  on  the  arm  of 
the  old  gentleman,  who  hesitated,  with  his  lip 
trembling. 

"Sir,"  said  Jack,  with  sudden  dignity:  "on  my 
honor  I  am  a  perfect  stranger  to  your  daughter  and 
her  affairs.  You  know  all  that  passed  between  us.  If 
you  do  not  wish  to  lose  sight  of  me,  give  me  your 
card;  and  I  will  send  you  my  address  as  soon  as  I 
have  one." 

"I  request — I — I  implore  you  not  to  trifle  with  me 


72  Love  Among  the  Artists 

in  this  matter,"  said  the  gentleman,  slowly  taking  out 
his  card  case.  "It  would  be  a — a  heartless  thing  to 
do.  Here  is  my  card.  If  you  have  any  information, 
or  can  acquire  any,  it  shall  be  liberally  paid  for — most 
liberally  paid  for. ' ' 

Jack,  offended  afresh,  looked  at  him  with  scorn ; 
snatched  the  card,  and  turned  on  his  heel.  The 
gentleman  looked  wistfully  after  him;  sighed; 
shivered;    and  got  into  the   cab. 

The  card  was  inscribed,  "Mr.  Sigismund  Brails- 
ford,  Kensington  Palace  Gardens." 


CHAPTER  V 

A  fortnight  later  the  Sutherlands,  accompanied  by 
Mrs.  Beatty,  were  again  in  London,  on  their  way  to 
the  Isle  of  Wight.  It  had  been  settled  that  Herbert 
should  go  to  Ventnor  for  a  month  with  his  mother,  so 
that  Mary  and  he  might  sketch  the  scenery  of  the 
island  together.  He  had  resisted  this  arrangement  at 
first  on  the  ground  that  Mrs.  Herbert's  presence  would 
interfere  with  his  enjoyment;  but  Mary,  who  had  lost 
her  own  mother  when  an  infant,  had  ideas  of  maternal 
affection  which  made  Adrian's  unfilial  feeling  shock- 
ing to  her.  She  entreated  him  to  come  to  Ventnor; 
and  he  yielded,  tempted  by  the  prospect  of  working 
beside  her,  and  foreseeing  that  he  could  easily  avoid 
his  mother's  company  whenever  it  became  irksome  to 
him. 

One  day,  whilst  they  were  still  in  London  at  the 
hotel  in  Onslow  Gardens,  Mr.  Sutherland,  seeing  his 
daughter  with  her  hat  and  cloak  on,  asked  whither  she 
was  going. 

"I  am  going  to  the  Brailsfords',  to  see  Madge,"  she 
replied. 

"Now  what  do  you  want  to  go  there  for?"  grumbled 
Mr.  Sutherland.  "I  do  not  like  your  associating  with 
that  girl." 

"Why,  papa?  Are  you  afraid  that  she  will  make  me 
run  away  and  go  on  the  stage?" 

"I  didn't  say  anything  of  the  kind.  But  she  can't 
be    a     very     right-minded     young    woman,     or    she 

73 


74  Love  Among  the  Artists 

wouldn't  have  done  so  herself.  However,  I  have  no 
objection  to  your  calling-  on  the  family.  They  are 
very  nice  people — well  connected;  and  Mr.  Brailsford 
is  a  clever  man.  But  don't  go  making  a  companion 
of  Madge." 

"I  shall  not  have  the  opportunity,  I  am  sorry  to 
say.  Poor  Madge!  Nobody  has  a  good  word  for 
her." 

Mr.  Sutherland  muttered  a  string  of  uncomplimen- 
tary epithets;  but  Mary  went  out  without  heeding 
him.  At  Kensington  Palace  Gardens  she  found  Mag- 
dalen Brailsford  alone. 

"They  are  all  out,"  said  Magdalen  when  Mary  had 
done  kissing  her.  "They  are  visiting,  or  shopping, 
or  doing  something  else  equally  intellectual.  I  am 
supposed  to  be  in  disgrace ;  so  I  am  never  asked  to  go 
with  them.  As  I  would  not  go  if  they  begged  me  on 
their  knees,  I  bear  the  punishment  with  fortitude." 

"But  what  have  you  done,  Madge?  Won't  you  tell 
me?  Aunt  Jane  said  that  her  conscience  would  not 
permit  her  to  pour  such  a  story  into  my  young  ears ; 
and  then  of  course  I  refused  to  hear  it  from  anybody 
but  yourself,  much  to  Aunt  Jane's  disgust;  for  she 
was  burning  to  tell  me.  Except  that  you  ran  away 
and  went  on  the  stage,  I  know  nothing. 

"There  is  nothing  else  to  know;  for  that  is  all  that 
happened. " 

"But  how  did  it  come  about?" 

"Will  you  promise  not  to  tell?" 

"I  promise  faithfully." 

"You  must  keep  your  promise;  for  I  have  accom- 
plices who  are  not  suspected,  and  who  will  help  me 
when  I  repeat  the  exploit,  as  I  fully  intend  to  do  the 


Love  Among  the  Artists  75 

very  instant  I  see  my  way  to  success.  Do  you  know 
where  we  lived  before  we  came  to  this  house?" 

"No.     You  have  lived  here  ever  since  I  knew  you." 

"We  had  lodgings  in  Gower  Street.  Mary,  did  you 
ever  ride  in  an  omnibus?" 

"No.  But  I  should  not  be  in  the  least  ashamed  to 
do  so  if  I  had  occasion. '  * 

"How  would  you  like  to  have  to  make  five  pounds 
worth  of  clothes  last  you  for  two  years?" 

"I  should  not  like  that." 

"Lots  of  people  have  to  do  it.  We  had,  when  we 
lived  in  Gower  Street,  Father  wrote  for  the  papers; 
and  we  never  had  any  money,  and  were  always  in 
debt.  But  we  went  to  the  theatres — with  orders,  of 
course — much  oftener  than  we  do  now;  and  we  either 
walked  home  or  took  our  carriage,  the  omnibus.  We 
were  recklessly  extravagant,  and  thought  nothing  of 
throwing  away  a  shilling  on  flowers  and  paper  fans  to 
decorate  the  rooms.  I  am  sure  we  spent  a  fortune  on 
three-penny  cretonne,  to  cover  the  furniture  when  its 
shabbiness  became  downright  indecent.  We  were 
very  fond  of  dwelling  on  the  lavish  way  we  would 
spend  money  if  father  ever  came  into  the  Brailsford 
property,  which  seemed  the  most  unlikely  thing  in 
the  world.  But  it  happened,  as  unlikely  things  often 
do.  All  the  rest  of  the  family — I  mean  all  of  it  that 
concerned  us — were  drowned  in  the  Solent  in  a  yacht 
accident;  and  we  found  ourselves  suddenly  very  rich, 
and,  as  I  suppose  you  have  remarked — especially  in 
Myra — very  stingy.  Poor  father,  whom  we  used  to 
revile  as  a  miser  in  Gov/er  Street,  is  the  only  one  of 
us  who  spends  money  as  if  he  was  above  caring  about 
it.     But  the  worst  of  it  is  that  we  have  got  respect- 


76  Love  Among  the  Artists 

able,  and  taken  to  society — at  least,  society  has  taken 
to  us;  and  we  have  returned  the  compliment.  I 
haven't,  though.  I  can't  stand  these  Kensington 
people  with  their  dances  and  at-homes.  It's  not  what 
I  call  living  really.  In  Gower  Street  we  used  to  know 
a  set  that  had  some  brains.  We  gave  ourselves  airs 
even  then;  but  still  on  Sunday  evenings  we  used  to 
have  plenty  of  people  with  us  to  supper  whom  you  are 
not  likely  to  meet  here.  One  of  them  was  a  man 
named  Tarleton,  who  made  money  as  a  theatrical 
agent  and  lost  it  as  a  manager  alternately." 

"And  you  fell  in  love  with  him,  of  course,"  said 
Mary. 

"Bosh!  Fell  in  love  with  old  Tommy  Tarleton! 
This  is  not  a  romance,  but  a  prosaic  Gower  Street 
narrative.  I  never  thought  about  him  after  we  came 
here  until  a  month  ago,  when  I  saw  that  he  was 
taking  a  company  to  Windsor.  I  always  wanted  to  go 
on  the  stage,  because  nowadays  a  woman  must  be 
either  an  actress  or  nothing.  So  I  wrote  to  him  for 
an  engagement,  and  sent  him  my  photograph." 

"Oh  Madge!" 

"Why  not?  His  company  was  playing  opera  bouffe; 
and  I  knew  he  wanted  good  looks  as  much  as  talent. 
You  don't  suppose  I  sent  it  as  a  love  token.  He  wrote 
back  that  he  had  no  part  open  that  I  could  take,  but 
that  if  I  wished  to  accustom  myself  to  the  stage  and 
would  find  my  own  dresses,  he  would  let  me  walk  on 
every  night  in  the  chorus,  and  perhaps  find  me  a  small 
part  to  understudy." 

"Very  kind,  indeed.  And  what  did  you  say  to  his 
noble  offer?" 

"I  accepted  it,  and  was  very  glad  to  get  it.     It  was 


Love  Among  the  Artists  ^^ 

better  than  sitting  here  quarrelling  with  the  girls, 
and  going  over  the  same  weary  argument  with  father 
about  disgracing  the  family.  I  managed  it  easily 
enough,  after  all.  There  is  a  woman  who  keeps  a 
lodging  house  in  Church  Street  here,  who  is  a  sister 
of  the  landlady  at  Gower  Street,  and  knows  all  about 
us.  She  has  a  second  sister  whose  daughter  is  a  ballet 
girl,  and  who  is  used  to  theatres.  I  ran  away  to 
Church  Street — five  minutes'  walk;  told  Polly  what 
I  had  done;  and  made  her  send  for  Mrs.  Wilkins,  the 
other  sister,  whom  I  carried  off  to  Windsor  as  chaperon 
that  evening.  But  the  company  turned  out  to  be  a 
third-rate  one;  and  I  wasn't  comfortable  with  them: 
they  were  rather  rowdy.  However,  I  did  not  stay 
long.  I  was  recognized  on  the  very  first  night  by 
someone — I  don't  know  whom — who  told  Colonel 
Beatty.  He  wrote  to  my  father;  and  I  was  captured 
on  the  third  day.  You  can  imagine  the  scene  when 
the  poor  old  governor  walked  suddenly  into  our  lodg- 
ing. He  tried  to  be  shocked  and  stern,  and  of  course 
only  succeeded  in  being  furious.  I  was  stubborn — I 
can  be  very  mulish  when  I  like;  but  I  was  getting 
tired  of  walking  on  in  the  chorus  at  night  and  spend- 
ing the  day  with  Mrs.  Wilkins ;  so  I  consented  to  go 
back  with  him.  He  took  my  purse,  which  I  was 
foolish  enough  to  leave  within  his  reach  whilst  I  was 
putting  on  my  bonnet,  and  so  left  me  without  a  far- 
thing, helplessly  dependent  on  him.  He  would  not 
give  it  me  back ;  and  to  revenge  myself  I  became  very 
uncivil  to  him ;  and  then  he  forbade  me  to  speak.  I 
took  him  at  his  word,  and  made  him  still  madder  by 
taking  no  notice  of  the  homilies  on  duty  and  respect- 
ability which  he  poured  forth  as  we  drove  to  the  train. " 


78  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Yes:  I  can  quite  imagine  that.  And  so  you  came 
home  and  returned  to  the  ways  of  well  conducted  girls. " 

"Not  at  all.  You  have  only  heard  the  prologue  to 
my  real  adventure.  When  we  got  to  the  railway 
station,  father,  who  intended  to  preach  at  me  during 
the  whole  journey,  bribed  the  guard  to  prevent  people 
from  coming  into  our  compartment.  The  train 
started,  and  I  had  just  been  requested  to  attend  to 
something  very  serious  that  must  be  said  to  me, 
when  there  was  an  uproar  on  the  platform,  and  a  man 
burst  headlong  into  the  carriage ;  sat  down ;  folded  his 
arms;  and  stared  majestically  at  father,  who  began  to 
abuse  him  furiously  for  intruding  on  us.  They 
quarrelled  all  the  way  up  to  London.  When  they  had 
exhausted  the  subject  of  our  carriage  being  private, 
the  man  objected  to  the  window  being  shut — I  think 
because  I  had  done  so  just  before,  though  perhaps  it 
was  more  from  love  of  contradiction.  Then  father 
objected  to  his  grinding  his  teeth.  Then  I  interfered 
and  was  bidden  to  hold  my  tongue.  Up  jumped  the 
man  and  asked  father  what  he  meant  by  speaking  so 
to  me.  He  even  said — you  will  not  repeat  this, 
please,  Mary." 

"No.     Why?     What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said — it  sounded  ridiculous — that  he  would  not 
permit  a  young  and  beautiful  woman  to  be  tyrannized 
over. ' ' 

"Oh!     Was  he  very  handsome?" 

"N — no.  He  was  not  conventionally  handsome; 
but  there  was  something  about  him  that  I  cannot  very 
well  describe.  It  was  a  sort  of  latent  power.  How- 
ever, it  does  not  matter,  as  I  suppose  I  shall  never  see 
him  again." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  79 

"I  think  I  can  understand  what  you  mean,"  said 
Mary  thoughtfully.  "There  are  some  men  who  are 
considered  quite  ugly,  but  who  are  more  remark- 
able than  pretty  people.  You  often  see  that  in 
artists. ' ' 

"This  man  was  not  in  the  least  like  your  Adrian, 
though,  Mary.  No  two  people  could  be  more 
different." 

"I  know.  I  was  thinking  of  a  very  different 
person." 

"Father  speaks  of  him  as  though  he  were  a  monster; 
but  that  is  perfect  nonsense. ' ' 

"Well,  what  was  the  upshot  of  this  interference?" 

"Oh,  I  thought  they  would  have  come  to  blows  at 
first.  Father  would  fight  duels  every  day  if  they 
were  still  in  fashion.  But  the  man  made  an  admirable 
speech  which  shewed  me  that  his  opinions  were  exactly 
the  same  as  mine;  and  father  could  say  nothing  in 
reply.  Then  they  accused  each  other  of  being  insane, 
and  kept  exchanging  insults  until  we  came  to  Padding- 
ton,  where  the  guard  wanted  to  give  the  man  to  the 
police  for  getting  into  the  train  after  it  had  started. 
At  last  we  all  got  out;  and  then  I  committed  my 
capital  crime — it  really  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  do. 
But  ever  since  father  had  taken  my  purse  and  made  a 
prisoner  of  me,  I  had  been  thinking  of  how  I  could 
give  him  the  slip  and  come  home  just  how  and  when 
I  pleased.  Besides,  I  was  quite  resolved  to  apply  to  a 
London  agent  for  a  regular  engagement  in  some 
theatre.  So  when  father  got  into  a  passion  about  my 
box  not  being  found  instantly,  and  went  off  to  look  for 
it,  leaving  me  by  myself,  the  idea  of  escaping  and 
going  to  the  agent  at  once  occurred  to  me.     I  made 


8o  Love  Among  the  Artists 

up  my  mind  and  unmade  it  again,  twenty  times  in 
every  second.  I  should  not  have  hesitated  a  moment 
if  I  had  had  my  purse ;  but  as  it  was,  I  had  only  my 
ring,  so  that  I  should  have  had  to  stop  the  cab  at  the 
nearest  pawnbrokers;  and  I  was  ashamed  to  go  into 
such  a  place — although  we  sometimes  used  to  send 
Mrs.  Wilkins  there,  without  letting  father  know,  in 
the  Gower  Street  days.  Then  the  porter  came  up 
and  said  that  the  cab  was  waiting;  and  I  knew  he 
would  expect  something  then  and  there  from  me  if  I 
went  off  by  myself.  What  do  you  think  I  did?  I 
went  straight  up  to  the  man  who  had  travelled  with  us 
— he  was  standing  close  by,  watching  me,  I  think — and 
asked  him  to  buy  my  ring." 

"Well,  Madge:  really— V 

"It  was  an  impulse.  I  don't  know  what  put  it  into 
my  head;  but  the  desperate  necessity  of  paying  the 
porter  hurried  me  into  obeying  it.  I  said  I  had  no 
money,  and  asked  for  a  little  in  exchange  for  the 
ring.  The  man  looked  at  me  in  the  most  terrifying 
way;  and  just  as  I  was  expecting  him  to  seize  me  and 
deliver  me  up  to  father,  he  plunged  into  his  pocket 
and  gave  me  a  handful  of  money.  He  would  not 
count  it,  nor  touch  the  ring.  I  was  insisting  on  his 
taking  either  the  ring  or  the  money,  when  he  suddenly 
shouted  at  me  that  father  was  coming,  and  bundled 
me  into  the  cab  before  I  had  collected  my  wits.  Then 
he  startled  the  driver  with  another  shout;  and  away 
went  the  cab.  But  I  managed  to  give  the  ring  to  the 
porter  for  him.  I  drove  to  the  agents  in  Bond  Street, 
and  on  my  way  counted  the  money:  two  sovereigns, 
three  half-sovereigns,  thirteen  and  sixpence  in  silver, 
and  seven  pennies.  " 


Love  Among  the  Artists  8i 

"Four  pounds,  four,  and  a  penny,"  said  Mary. 
"He  ..^ust  have  been  mad.  But  there  was  something 
chivalrous  about  it,  especially  for  a  nineteenth  century 
incident  at  Paddington." 

"I  think  it  was  sheer  natural  nobility  of  heart, 
Mary.  Father  enrages  me  by  saying  that  he  was  a 
thief,  and  made  fifty  pounds  profit  out  of  my  inno- 
cence. As  if  his  refusing  the  ring  was  not  an  abso- 
lute proof  to  the  contrary.  He  got  our  address  from 
father  afterwards,  and  promised  to  send  us  his;  but 
he  has  never  done  so." 

' '  I  wonder  why.  He  certainly  ought  to.  Your  ring 
is  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  four  pounds." 

"He  might  not  wish  to  give  it  up  to  my  father,  as 
it  was  mine.  If  he  wishes  to  keep  it  he  is  welcome. 
I  am  sure  he  deserves  it.  Mind :  he  refused  it  after 
giving  me  the  money." 

"If  you  had  a  nose  like  mine,  and  wore  a  pince-nez^ 
I  doubt  whether  you  would  have  found  him  so 
generous.     I  believe  he  fell  in  love  with  you." 

"Nonsense.  Who  ever  knew  a  man  to  sacrifice  all 
his  money — all  he  had  in  the  world,  perhaps — for  the 
sake  of  love?  I  know  what  men  are  too  well.  Besides, 
he  was  quite  rude  to  me  once  in  the  carriage. ' ' 

"Well,  since  he  has  the  ring,  and  intends  to  keep 
it,  he  has  the  best  of  the  bargain.  Go  on  with  your 
own  adventures.     What  did  the  agents  say?" 

"They  all  took  half-crowns  from  me,  and  put  my 
name  on  their  books.  They  are  to  write  to  me  if  they 
can  procure  me  an  engagement;  but  I  saw  enough  to 
convince  me  that  there  is  not  much  chance.  They 
are  all  very  agreeable — that  is,  they  thought  them- 
selves so — except  one  grumpy  old  man,  who  asked  ms 


82  Love  Among  the  Artists 

what  I  expected  when  I  could  neither  walk  nor  speak. 
That,  and  my  sensations  on  the  stage  at  Windsor,  con- 
vinced me  that  I  need  some  instruction ;  and  I  have 
set  Mrs.  Simpson,  the  woman  in  Church  Street,  to 
find  somebody  who  can  teach  me.  However,  to  finish 
my  story,  when  I  saw  that  there  was  nothing  more  to 
be  done  that  day,  or  the  next  either,  I  told  the  cabman 
to  drive  me  home,  where  I  found  father  nearly  in 
hysterics.  As  soon  as  the  family  recovered  from  their 
amazement  at  seeing  me,  we  began  to  scold  and  abuse 
one  another.  They  were  so  spiteful  that  father  at  last 
took  my  part;  and  poor  mother  vainly  tried  to  keep 
the  peace.  At  last  they  retreated  one  by  one  crying, 
and  left  me  alone  with  father.  I  fancy  we  gave  them 
as  good  as  they  brought;  for  no  allusion  has  been 
made  to  my  escapade  since." 

Mary  looked  at  her  friend  for  a  while.  Then  she 
said,  "Madge:  you  are  quite  mad.  There  is  not  a 
doubt  of  it:  that  episode  of  the  ring  settles  the  ques- 
tion finally.  I  suppose  you  regard  this  bedlamite 
adventure  as  the  most  simple  and  natural  thing  in  the 
world. ' ' 

"When  I  have  my  mind  made  up  to  do  something, 
it  seems  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to  go  and 
do  it.  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  lecture  me  for 
adopting-  a  profession,  after  all  your  rhapsodies  about 
high  art  and  so  forth." 

"But  opera  bouffe  is  not  high  art,  Madge.  If  you 
had  appeared  in  one  of  Shakspere's  characters,  I 
should  sympathize  with  you." 

"Yes,  make  a  fool  of  myself  as  a  lady  amateur!  I 
have  no  more  ambition  to  play  Shakspere  than  you 
have  to  paint  Transfigurations.     Now,  don't  begin  to 


Love  Among  the  Artists  83 

argue  about  Art.  I  have  had  enough  of  argument 
lately  to  last  me  for  life. " 

"And  you  mean  to  persist?" 

"Yes.     Why  not?" 

"Of  course,  if  you  have  talent " 

"Which  you  don't  believe,  although  you  can  see 
nothing  ridiculous  in  your  own  dreams  of  being 
another  Claude  Lorraine.  You  are  just  like  Myra, 
with  her  pet  formula  of,  'Well,  Madge,  the  idea  oi  yo7i 
being  able  to  act!'  Why  should  I  not  be  able  to  act 
as  well  as  anybody  else?     I  intend  to  try,  at  any  rate." 

"You  need  not  be  angry  with  me,  Madge.  I  don't 
doubt  your  cleverness;  but  an  actress's  life  must  be 
a  very  queer  one.  And  I  never  said  I  could  paint 
better  than  Claude.  If  you  knew  how  wretched  my 
own  productions  seem  to  me,  you " 

"Yes,  yes:  I  know  all  that  stuff  of  Adrian's  by 
heart.  If  you  don't  like  your  own  pictures,  you  may 
depend  upon  it  no  one  else  will.  I  am  going  to  be  an 
actress  because  I  think  I  can  act.  You  are  going  to 
be  a  painter  because  you  think  you  can't  paint.  So 
there's  an  end  of  that.  Would  you  mind  coming  over 
to  Polly's  with  me?" 

"Who  is  Polly?" 

"Our  old  landlady's  sister — my  accomplice — the 
woman  who  keeps  the  lodging  house  in  Church  Street, 
Mrs.  Simpson." 

"You  don't  mean  to  run  away  again?" 

"No.  At  least  not  yet.  But  she  has  a  lodger  who 
teaches  elocution;  and  as  he  is  very  poor,  Mrs. 
Wilkins — Polly's  other  sister  and  my  late  chaperon — 
thinks  he  would  give  me  some  cheap  lessons.  And  I 
must  have  them  very  cheap,  or  else  go  without;  for 


84  Love  Among  the  Artists 

father  will  hardly  trust  me  with  a  shilling  now.  He 
has  never  even  given  me  back  my  purse.  I  have 
only  the  remainder  of  the  man's  money,  and  ten 
pounds  that  I  had  laid  up." 

"And  are  you  going  to  take  a  lesson  to-day?" 

"No,  no.  I  only  want  to  see  the  man  and  ask  his 
terms.  If  I  try  to  go  alone,  I  shall  be  watched  and 
suspected.  With  you  I  shall  be  safe :  they  regard  you 
as  a  monument  of  good  sense  and  propriety.  If  we 
meet  any  of  the  girls,  and  they  ask  where  we  are 
going,  do  not  mention  Church  Street." 

"But  how  can  we  evade  them  if  they  ask  us?" 

"We  won't  evade  them.     We  will  tell  them  alia." 

"I  certainly  will  not,  Madge." 

"I  certainly  will.  If  people  interfere  with  my 
liberty,  and  ask  questions  that  they  have  no  business 
to  ask,  I  will  meet  force  with  fraud,  and  fool  them  to 
the  top  of  their  bent,  as  your  friend  Shakspere  says. 
You  need  not  look  shocked.  You,  who  are  mistress 
of  your  house,  and  rule  your  father  with  a  rod  of  iron, 
are  no  judge  of  my  position.  Put  on  your  hat,  and 
come  along.     We  can  walk  there  in  five  minutes." 

"I  will  go  with  you;  but  I  shall  not  be  a  party  to 
any  deception." 

Madge  made  a  face,  but  got  her  bonnet  without 
further  words.  They  went  out  together,  and  traversed 
the  passage  from  Kensington  Palace  Gardens  to 
Church  Street,  where  Magdalen  led  the  way  to  a 
shabby  house,  with  a  card  inscribed  Furnished 
Apartments  in  the  window. 

"Is  Mrs.  Simpson  in  her  room?"  said  Magdalen, 
entering  unceremoniously  as  soon  as  the  door  was 
opened. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  85 

**Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  servant,  whose  rule  it  was 
to  address  women  in  bonnets  as  ma'am,  and  women  in 
hats  as  Miss.  "She  'ave  moved  to  the  second  floor 
since  you  was  here  last.     The  parlors  is  let." 

"I  will  go  up,"  said  Magdalen.  "Come  on,  Mary." 
And  she  ran  upstairs,  followed  more  slowly  by  Mary, 
who  thought  the  house  close  and  ill  kept,  and  gathered 
her  cloak  about  her  to  prevent  it  touching  the 
banisters.  When  they  reached  the  second  floor,  they 
knocked  at  the  door;  but  no  one  ansvv^ered.  Above 
them  was  a  landing,  accessible  by  a  narrow  uncarpeted 
stair.  They  could  hear  a  shrill  voice  in  conversation 
with  a  deep  one  on  the  third  floor.  Whilst  they 
waited,  the  shrill  voice  rose  higher  and  higher;  and 
the  deep  voice  began  to  growl  ominously. 

"A  happy  pair,"  whispered  Mary.  "We  had  better 
go  downstairs  and  get  the  servant  to  find  Mrs. 
Simpson." 

"No:  wait  a  little.  That  is  Polly's  voice,  I  am  sure. 
Hark!" 

The  door  above  was  opened  violently ;  and  a  power- 
ful voice  resounded,  saying,  "Begone,  you  Jezebel." 

"The  man!"  exclaimed  Madge. 

"Mr.  Jack!"  exclaimed  Mary.  And  they  looked 
wonderingly  at  one  another,  and  listened. 

"How  dare  you  offer  me  sich  language,  sir?  Do  you 
know  whose  'ouse  this  is?" 

"I  tell  you  once  for  all  that  I  am  neither  able  nor 
willing  to  pay  you  one  farthing.  Hold  your  tongue 
until  I  have  finished."  This  command  was  empha- 
sized by  a  stamp  that  shook  the  floor.  "I  have  eaten 
nothing  to-day;  and  I  cannot  afford  to  starve.  Here 
is  my  shirt.     Here   is    my  waistcoat.      Take  them— 


86  Love  Among  the  Artists 


t> 


come!  take  them,  or  I'll  stuflE  them  down  your  throat 
— and  give  them  to  your  servant  to  pawn:  she  has 
pawned  the  shirt  before;  and  let  her  get  me  some- 
thing to  eat  with  the  money.     Do  you  hear?" 

"I  will  not  have  my  servant  go  to  the  pawnshop  for 
you,  and  get  my  house  a  bad  name." 

"Then  go  and  pawn  them  yourself.  And  do  not 
come  to  this  room  again  with  your  threats  and 
complaints  unless  you  wish  to  be  strangled." 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  lay  a  finger  on  me,  a  married 
woman.     Do  you  call  yourself  a  gentleman " 

Here  there  was  a  growl,  a  sound  of  hasty  footsteps, 
an  inarticulate  remonstrance,  a  checked  scream,  and 
then  a  burst  of  sobbing  and  the  words,  "You're  as 
hard  as  a  stone,  Mr.  Jack.  My  poor  little  Rosie. 
Ohoo!" 

"Stop  that  noise,  you  crocodile.  What  is  the  matter 
with  you  now?" 

"My  Rosie." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  your  Rosie?  You  are 
snivelling  to  have  her  back  because  she  is  happier  in 
the  country  than  stifling  in  this  den  with  you,  you 
ungovernable  old  hag. '  * 

"God  forgive  you  for  that  word — ohoo!  She  ain't  in 
the  country." 

"Then  where  the  devil  is  she;  and  what  did  you 
mean  by  telling  me  she  was  there?" 

"She's  in  the  'ospittle.  For  the  Lord's  sake  don't 
let  it  get  out  on  me,  Mr.  Jack,  or  I  should  have  my 
house  empty.  The  poor  little  darling  took  the  scarlet 
fever;  and — and " 

"And  you  deserve  to  be  hanged  for  letting  her  catch 
it.     Why  did't  you  take  proper  care  of  her?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  87 

"How  could  I  help  it,  Mr.  Jack?  I'm  sure  if  I  could 
have  took  it  myself  instead ' ' 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  you  had,  and  the  unfortunate 
child  and  everybody  else  might  have  been  well  rid  of 
you." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  Mr.  Jack.  I  may  have  spoke 
hasty  to  you ;  but  its  very  hard  to  be  owed  money,  and 
not  be  able  to  get  the  things  for  my  blessed  angel  to 
be  sent  to  the  country  in,  and  she  going  to  be  dis- 
charged on  Friday.  You  needn't  look  at  me  like  that, 
Mr.  Jack.     I  wouldn't  deceive  you  of  all  people." 

"You  would  deceive  your  guardian  angel — if  you 
had  one — for  a  shilling.  Give  me  back  those  things. 
Here  is  a  ring  which  you  can  pawn  instead.  It  is 
worth  something  considerable,  I  suppose.  Take  what 
money  you  require  for  the  child,  and  bring  me  the 
rest.  But  mind!  Not  one  farthing  of  it  shall  you 
have  for  yourself,  nor  should  you  if  I  owed  you  ten 
years'  rent.  I  would  not  pawn  it  to  save  you  from 
starvation.  And  get  me  some  dinner,  and  some  music 
paper — the  same  you  used  to  get  me,  twenty-four 
staves  to  the  page.  Off  with  you.  What  are  you 
gaping  at?" 

"Why,  wherever  did  you  get  this  ring,  Mr.  Jack?" 

"That's  nothing  to  you.  Take  it  away;  and  make 
haste  with  my  dinner. ' ' 

"But  did  you  buy  it?     Or  was  it "     The  voice 

abruptly  broke  into  a  smothered  remonstrance;  and 
the  landlady  appeared  on  the  landing,  apparently 
pushed  out  by  the  shoulders.  Then  the  lodger's  door 
slammed. 

"Polly,"  cried  Magdalen  impatiently.     "Polly." 

"Lor',  Miss  Madge!" 


88  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Come  down  here.  We  have  waited  ten  minutes 
for  you." 

Mrs.  Simpson  came  down,  and  brought  her  two 
visitors  into  her  sitting  room  on  the  second  floor. 
"Won't  )^ou  sit  down,  Miss,"  she  said  to  Mary. 
"Don't  pull  out  that  chair  from  the  wall,  Miss  Madge: 
its  leg  is  broke.  Oh  dear!  I'm  greatly  worrited, 
what  with  one  thing  and  another." 

"We  have  been  listening  to  a  battle  between  you 
and  the  lodger  upstairs,"  said  Magdalen;  "and  you 
seemed  to  be  getting  the  worst  of  it." 

"No  one  knows  what  I've  gone  through  with  that 
man,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  wiping  her  eyes.  "He 
walked  into  the  room  a  fortnight  ago  when  I  was  out, 
without  asking  leave.  Knocks  at  the  door  at  one 
o'clock  in  the  day,  and  asks  the  girl  if  the  garret  is 
let  to  anyone.  "No,  sir,"  says  she.  So  up  he  goes 
and  plants  himself  as  if  he  owned  the  house.  To  be 
sure  she  knew  him  of  old ;  but  that  was  all  the  more 
reason  for  keeping  him  out ;  for  he  never  had  a  half- 
penny. The  very  first  thing  he  sent  her  to  do  was  to 
pawn  his  watch.  And  the  things  I  have  to  put  up 
with  from  him!  He  thinks  no  more  of  calling  me 
every  name  he  can  lay  his  tongue  to,  and  putting  me 
out  of  my  own  room  than  if  he  was  a  prince,  and  me 
his  kitchen  maid.  He's  as  strong  as  a  bull,  and  cares 
for  nothing  nor  nobody  but  himself." 

"What  is  he?"  said  Magdalen.  "His  name  is  Jack, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes;  and  a  fit  name  it  is  for  him.  He  came  here 
first,  to  my  sorrow,  last  December,  and  took  the 
garret  for  half-a-crown  a  week.  He  had  a  port- 
manteau then,   and  some  little  money;    and  he  was 


Love  Among  the  Artists  89 

quiet  enough  for  almost  a  month.  But  he  kept  very 
much  to  himself  except  for  letting  poor  little  Rosie 
play  about  his  room,  and  teaching  her  little  songs. 
You  can't  think  what  a  queer  child  she  is,  Miss 
Sutherland.  I'm  sure  you'd  say  so  if  you  saw  Mr. 
Jack,  the  only  lodger  she  took  any  fancy  to.  At  last 
he  sent  the  servant  to  pawn  his  things;  and  I,  like  a 
fool,  was  loth  to  see  him  losing  his  clothes,  and  offered 
to  let  the  rent  run  if  he  could  pay  at  the  end  of  the 
month.  Then  it  came  out  that  he  was  in  the  music 
profession,  and  akshally  expected  to  get  pupils  while 
he  was  living  in  a  garret.  I  did  a  deal  for  him, 
although  he  was  nothing  to  me.  I  got  him  a  station- 
er's daughter  from  High  Street  to  teach.  After  six 
lessons,  if  you'll  believe  it.  Miss,  and  she  as  pleased  as 
anything  with  the  way  she  was  getting  along,  he  told 
the  stationer  that  it  was  waste  of  mone)^  to  have  the 
girl  taught,  because  she  had  no  qualification  but  van- 
ity. So  he  lost  her;  and  now  she  has  lessons  at  four 
guineas  a  dozen  from  a  lady  that  gets  all  the  credit  for 
what  he  taught  her.  Then  Simpson's  brother-in-law 
got  him  a  place  in  a  chapel  in  the  Edgeware  Road  to 
play  the  harmonium  and  train  the  choir.  But  they 
couldn't  stand  him.  He  treated  them  as  if  they  were 
dogs;  and  the  three  richest  old  ladies  in  the  congrega- 
tion, who  had  led  the  singing  for  forty-five  years, 
walked  out  the  second  night,  and  said  they  wouldn't 
enter  the  chapel  till  he  was  gone.  When  the  minister 
rebuked  him,  he  up  and  said  that  if  he  was  a  God  and 
they  sang  to  him  like  that,  he'd  scatter  'em  with  light- 
ning. That's  his  notion  of  manners.  So  he  had  to 
leave ;  but  a  few  of  the  choir  liked  him  and  got  him 
occasionally  to  play  the  piano  at  a  glee  club  on  the 


90  Love  Among  the  Artists 

first  floor  of  a  public  house.  He  got  five  shillings 
once  a  fortnight  or  so  for  that ;  and  not  another  half- 
penny had  he  to  live  on  except  pawning  his  clothes  bit 
by  bit.  You  may  imagine  all  the  rent  I  got.  At  last 
he  managed  someway  to  get  took  on  as  tutor  by  a 
gentleman  at  Windsor.  I  had  to  release  his  clothes 
out  of  my  own  money  before  he  could  go.  I  was  five 
pound  out  of  pocket  by  him,  between  rent  and  other 
things." 

"Did  he  ever  pay  you?"  said  Mary. 

"Oh,  yes.  Miss.  He  certainly  sent  me  the  money. 
I  am  far  from  saying  that  he  is  not  honorable  when  he 
has  the  means." 

"It  is  a  funny  coincidence,"  said  Mary.  "It  was 
to  us  that  Mr.  Jack  came  as  tutor.  He  taught 
Charlie." 

"To  you!"  said  Magdalen,  surprised  and  by  no 
means  pleased.     "Then  you  know  him?" 

"Yes.     He  left  us  about  a  fortnight  ago." 

"Just  so,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  "and  was  glad  enough 
to  come  straight  back  here  without  a  penny  in  his 
pocket.  And  here  he  is  like  to  be  until  some  other 
situation  drops  into  his  lap.  If  I  may  ask,  Miss,  why 
did  he  leave  you?" 

"Oh,  for  no  particular  reason,"  said  Mary  uneasily. 
"That  is,  my  brother  had  left  Windsor;  and  we  did 
not  require  Mr.  Jack  any  more." 

"So  he  was  the  tutor  of  whom  Mrs.  Beatty  told 
mother?"  said  Magdalen  significantly. 

"Yes." 

"I  hope  he  was  pleasanter  in  your  house,  Miss,  than 
he  is  in  mine.  However,  that's  not  my  business.  I 
have  no  wish  to  intrude.     Except  the  letter  he  wrote 


Love  Among  the  Artists  gt 

me  with  the  money,  not  a  civil  word  have  I  ever  had 
from  him." 

"A  lady  whom  I  know,"  said  Mary,  "employed  him, 
whilst  he  was  with  us,  to  correct  come  songs  which  she 
wrote.  Perhaps  I  conld  induce  her  to  give  him  some 
more.  I  should  like  to  get  him  something  to  do. 
But  I  am  afraid  she  was  offended  by  the  way  he 
altered  her  composition  last  time. ' ' 

"Well,  Polly,"  said  Magdalen,  "we  are  forgetting 
my  business.  Where  is  the  professor  that  Mrs. 
Wilkins  told  me  of?  I  wish  Mr.  Jack  gave  lessons  in 
elocution.     I  should  like  to  have  him  for  a  master." 

"Why,  Miss  Madge,  to  tell  you  the  honest  truth,  it 
is  Mr.  Jack.  But  wait  till  I  show  you  something. 
He's  given  me  a  ring  to  pawn;  and  it's  the  very 
moral  of  your  own  that  you  used  to  wear  in  Gower 
Street." 

"It  is  mine,  Polly.  I  owe  Mr.  Jack  four  guineas; 
and  I  must  pay  him  to-day.  Don't  stare:  I  will  tell 
you  all  about  it  afterwards.  I  have  to  thank  him  too, 
for  getting  me  out  of  a  great  scrape,  Mary:  do  you 
wish  to  see  him?" 

"Well,  I  would  rather  not, "  said  Mary  slowly:  "at 
least,  I  think  it  would  be  better  not.  But  after  all  it 
can  do  no  harm;  and  I  suppose  it  would  not  be  right 
for  you  to  see  him  alone. ' ' 

"Oh,  never  mind  that,"  said  Magdalen  suspiciously. 
"I  can  have  Polly  with  me." 

"If  you  had  rather  not  have  me  present,  I  will  go." 

"Oh,  I  don't  care.  Only  you  seemed  to  make  some 
difficulty  about  it  yourself. ' ' 

"There  can  be  no  real  difficulty,  now  that  I  come  to 
consider  it.     Yet — I  hardly  know  what  I  ought  to  do." 


92  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"You  had  better  make  up  your  mind,"  said 
Magdalen  impatiently. 

"Well,  Madge,  I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  said 
Mary,  perching  her  spectacles,  and  looking  composedly 
at  her  friend.     "I  will  stay." 

"Very  well,"  said  Madge,  not  with  a  very  good 
grace:  "I  suppose  we  must  not  go  to  Mr.  Jack,  so  he 
had  better  come  to  us.  Polly:  go  and  tell  him  that 
two  ladies  wish  to  see  him." 

"You  had  better  say  on  business,"  added  Mary. 

"And  don't  mention  our  names.  I  want  to  see 
whether  he  will  know  me  again,"  said  Magdalen. 
Mary  looked  hard  at  her. 

"D'ye  really  mean  it.  Miss  Madge?" 

"Good  gracious,  yes!"  replied  Magdalen  angrily. 

The  landlady,  after  lingering  a  moment  in  doubt 
and  wonder,  went  out.  Silence  ensued.  Magdalen's 
color  brightened;  and  she  moved  her  chair  to  a  place 
whence  she  could  see  herself  in  the  mirror.  Mary 
closed  her  lips,  and  sat  motionless  and  rather  pale. 
Not  a  word  passed  between  them  until  the  door 
opened  abruptly,  and  Jack,  with  his  coat  buttoned  up 
to  his  chin,  made  a  short  step  into  the  room.  Recog- 
nizing Mary,  he  stopped  and  frowned. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Jack?"  she  said,  bowing 
steadily  to  him.  He  bowed  slightly,  and  looked  round 
the  room.  Seeing  Magdalen,  he  was  amazed.  She 
bowed  too ;  and  he  gave  her  a  scared  nod. 

"Won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Jack?"  said  the  landlady, 
assuming  the  manner  in  which  she  was  used  to  receive 
company. 

"Have  you  pawned  that  ring  yet?"  he  said,  turning 
suddenly  to  her. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  93 

"No,"  she  retorted,  scandalized. 

"Then  give  it  back  to  me."  She  did  so;  and  he 
looked  at  Magdalen,  saying,  "You  have  come  just  in 
time." 

"I  came  to  thank  you " 

*'You  need  not  thank  me.  I  was  sorry  afterwards 
for  having  helped  a  young  woman  to  run  away  from 
her  father.  If  I  were  not  the  most  hotheaded  fool  in 
England,  I  should  have  stopped  you.  I  hope  no  harm 
came  of  it." 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  caused  you  any  uneasiness," 
said  Magdalen,  coloring.  "The  }^oung  woman  drove 
straight  home  after  transacting  some  business  that  she 
wished  to  conceal  from  her  father.     That  was  all." 

"So  much  the  better.  If  I  had  known  you  were  at 
home,  I  should  have  sent  you  your  ring." 

"My  father  expected  you  to  write," 

"I  told  him  I  would;  but  I  thought  better  of  it.  I 
had  nothing  to  tell  him." 

"You  must  allow  me  to  repay  you  the  sum  you  so 
kindly  lent  me  that  day,  Mr.  Jack,"  said  Magdalen  in 
a  lower  voice,  confusing  herself  by  an  unskilled  effort 
to  express  gratitude  by  her  tone  and  manner. 

' '  It  will  be  welcome, ' '  he  replied  moodily.  Magdalen 
slowly  took  out  a  new  purse.  "Give  it  to  Mrs.  Simp- 
son," he  added,  turning  away.  The  movement 
brought  him  face  to  face  with  Mary,  before  whom  his 
brow  gathered  portentiously.  She  bore  his  gaze 
steadily,  but  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 

"I  have  some  further  business,  Mr.  Jack,"  said 
Magdalen. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  turning  again  towards 
ber. 


94                Love  Among  the  Artists 
"Mrs.  Simpson  told  me " 


"Ah!"  said  he,  interrupting  her,  and  casting  a 
threatening  glance  at  the  landlady.  "It  was  she  who 
told  you  where  I  was  to  be  found,  was  it?" 

"Well,  I  don't  see  the  harm  if  I  did,"  said  Mrs. 
Simpson.  "If  you  look  on  it  as  a  liberty  on  my  part 
to  recommend  you,  Mr.  Jack,  I  can  easily  stop  doing  it. ' ' 

"Recommend  me!  What  does  she  mean.  Miss 
Brailsford? — you  are  Miss  Brailsford,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes.     I  was  about  to  say  that  Mrs.  Simpson  told 

me  that    you    gave — that    is .     I    should  perhaps 

explain  first  that  I  intend  to  go  on  the  stage." 

"What  do  you  want  to  go  on  the  stage  for?" 

"The  same  as  anybody  else,  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 
Simpson  indignantly. 

"I  wish  to  make  it  my  profession,"  said  Magdalen. 

"Do  you  mean  make  your  living  by  it?" 

"I  hope  so." 

"Humph!" 

"Do  you  think  I  should  have  any  chance  of 
success?" 

"I  suppose,  if  you  have  intelligence  and  persever- 
ance, and  can  drudge  and  be  compliant,  and  make 
stepping  stones  of  your  friends — but  there!  I  know 
nothing  about  success.  What  have  I  got  to  do  with 
it?  Do  you  think,  as  your  father  did,  that  I  am  a 
theatrical  agent?" 

"Well  I  must  say,  Mr.  Jack,"  exclaimed  the  land- 
lady, "that  those  who  try  to  befriend  you  get  very 
little  encouragement.  I  am  right  sorry,  so  I  am,  that 
I  brought  Miss  Madge  to  ask  you  for  lessons." 

"Lessons!"  said  Jack.  "Oh!  I  did  not  understand. 
Lessons  in  what?    Music?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  95 

*'No,"  said  Magdalen.  "I  wanted  lessons  in  elocu- 
tion and  so  forth.  At  least,  I  was  told  the  other  day 
that  I  did  not  know  how  to  speak." 

"Neither  do  you.  That  is  true  enough,"  said  Jack 
thoughtfully.  "Well,  I  don't  profess  to  prepare 
people  for  the  stage ;  but  I  can  teach  you  to  speak,  if 
you  have  anything  to  say  or  any  feeling  for  what 
better  people  put  into  your  mouth," 

"You  are  not  very  sanguine  as  to  the  result,  I  fear." 

"The  result,  as  far  as  it  goes,  is  certain,  if  you 
practice.  If  not,  I  shall  give  you  up.  After  all,  there 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  do  something  better 
than  be  a  fine  lady.  Your  appearance  is  good :  all  the 
rest  can  be  acquired — except  a  genius  for  tomfoolery, 
which  you  must  take  your  chance  of.  The  public 
want  actresses,  because  they  think  all  actresses  bad. 
They  don't  want  music  or  poetry  because  they  know 
that  both  are  good.  So  actors  and  actresses  thrive, 
as  I  hope  you  will ;  and  poets  and  composers  starve, 
as  I  do.     When  do  you  wish  to  begin?" 

It  was  soon  arranged  that  Magdalen  should  take 
lessons  in  Mrs.  Simpson's  sitting  room,  and  in  her 
presence,  every  second  week-day,  and  that  she  should 
pay  Mr.  Jack  for  them  at  the  rate  of  three  guineas  a 
dozen.  The  first  was  to  take  place  on  the  next  day 
but  one.  Then  the  two  ladies  rose  to  go.  But  Mag- 
dalen first  drew  Mrs.  Simpson  aside  to  pay  her  the 
money  which  Jack  had  lent  her;  so  that  he  was  left 
near  the  door  with  Mary,  who  had  only  spoken  once 
since  he  entered  the  room. 

"Mr.  Jack,"  she  said,  in  an  undertone:  "I  fear  I 
have  intruded  on  you.  But  I  assure  you  I  did  not 
know  who  it  was  that  we  were  coming  to  see." 


96  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Else  you  would  not  have  come." 

"Only  because  I  should  have  expected  to  be 
unwelcome." 

"It  does  not  matter.  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  though 
I  have  no  reason   to  be.     How  is  Mr.  Adrian?" 

"Mr.  Herbert " 

"I  beg  his  pardon,  Mr.  Herbert,  of  course." 

"He  is  quite  well,  thank  you." 

Jack  rubbed  his  hands  stealthily,  and  looked  at 
Mary  as  though  the  recollection  of  Adrian  tickled  his 
sense  of  humor.  As  she  tried  to  look  coldly  at  him, 
he  said,  with  a  shade  of  pity  in  his  tone,  "Ah,  Miss 
Sutherland,  it  is  one  thing  to  be  very  fond  of  music: 
it  is  quite  another  to  be  able  to  compose." 

"Is  it?"  said  Mary,  puzzled. 

He  shook  his  head.  "You  don't  see  the  relevance 
of  that,"  said  he.     "Well,  never  mind." 

She  looked  at  him  uneasily,  and  hesitated.  Then 
she  said  slowly,  "Mr.  Jack:  some  people  at  Windsor, 
friends  of  mine,  have  been  asking  about  you,  I  think, 
if  you  could  come  down  once  a  week,  I  could  get  a 
music  class  together  for  you. ' ' 

"No  doubt,"  he  said,  his  angry  look  returning. 
"They  will  take  lessons  because  you  ask  them  to  be 
charitable  to  your  discarded  tutor.  Why  did  you 
discard  him  if  you  think  him  fit  to  teach  your  friends?" 

"Not  at  all.  The  project  was  mentioned  last  season, 
before  I  knew  you.  It  is  simply  that  we  wish  to  take 
lessons.  If  you  do  not  get  the  class  somebody  else 
will.  It  is  very  difficult  to  avoid  offending  you,  Mr. 
Jack." 

"Indeed!  Why  does  the  world  torment  me,  if  it 
expects  to  find  me  gracious  to  it?     And  who  are  the 


Love  Among  the  Artists  97 

worthy  people  that  are  burning  to  soar  in  the  realms 
of  song?" 

"Well,  to  begin  with.     I  should  1 " 

"You!  I  would  not  give  you  lessons  though  your 
life  depended  on  it.  No,  by  Heaven!  At  least,"  he 
continued,  more  placably,  as  she  recoiled,  evidently 
hurt,  "you  shall  have  no  lessons  from  me  for  money. 
I  will  teach  you,  if  you  wish  to  learn;  but  you  shall 
not  try  to  make  amends  for  your  old  caprice  of  beggar- 
ing me,  by  a  new  caprice  to  patronize  me." 

"Then  of  course  I  cannot  take  any  lessons." 

"I  thought  not.  You  will  confer  favors  on  your 
poor  music  maker;  but  you  will  not  stoop  to  accept 
them  from  him.  Your  humble  dog,  Miss  Sutherland. " 
He  made  her  a  bow. 

"You  quite  mistake  me,"  said  Mary,  unable  to  con- 
trol her  vexation.     "Will  you  take  the  class  or  not?" 

"Where  will  the  class  be?" 

"I  could  arrange  to  have  it  at  our  house  if " 

"Never.  I  have  crossed  its  threshold  for  the  last 
time.  So  long  as  it  is  not  there,  I  do  not  care  where  it 
is.  Not  less  than  one  journey  a  week,  and  not  less 
than  a  guinea  clear  profit  for  each  journey.  Those 
are  my  lowest  terms:  I  will  take  as  much  more  as  I 
can  get,  but  nothing  less.  Perhaps  you  are  thinking 
better  of  getting  the  class  for  me." 

"I  never  break  my  word,  Mr.  Jack." 

"Ha!  Don't  you!  I  do.  A  fortnight  ago  I  swore 
never  to  speak  to  you  again.  The  same  day  I  swore 
never  to  part  with  your  friend's  ring  except  to  herself. 
Well,  here  I  am  speaking  to  you  for  no  better  reason 
than  that  you  met  me  and  offered  to  put  some  money 
in  my  way.     And  you  stopped  me  in  the  act  of  pawn- 


98  Love  Among  the  Artists 

ing  her  ring,  which  I  was  going  to  do  because  I 
thought  I  would  rather  have  a  beefsteak.  But  you 
are  adamant.  You  never  change  your  mind.  You 
have  a  soul  above  fate  and  necessity !     Ha!  ha!" 

"Magdalen,"  said  Mary,  turning  to  her  friend,  who 
had  been  waiting  for  the  end  of  this  conversation:  "I 
think  we  had  better  go."  Mary  was  crimson  with 
suppressed  resentment;  and  Magdalen,  not  displeased 
to  see  it,  advanced  to  bid  Jack  farewell  in  her  most 
attractive  manner.  He  immediately  put  off  his 
bantering  air,  and  ceremoniously  accompanied  them 
downstairs  to  the  door,  where  Magdalen,  going  out 
first,  gave  him  her  hand.  Mary  hesitated;  and  he 
wrinkled  his  brow  as  he  looked  at  her. 

"I  will  tell  Miss  Cairns  to  write  to  you  about  the 
class,"  she  said.  He  listened  to  her  with  an  attention 
which  she  thought  derisive.  Flushing  with  displeasure, 
she  added,  "And  as  Miss  Cairns  has  done  nothing  to 
incur  your  anger,  I  beg,  Mr.  Jack,  that  you  will 
remember  that  she  is  a  lady,  and  will  expect  to  be 
treated  with  common  civility. ' ' 

"Oho!"  said  Jack,  delighted,  "Have  I  been  rude? 
Have  1?" 

"You  have  been  excessively  rude,  Mr.  Jack." 
She  went  out  quickly,  sending  the  words  with  an 
angry  glance  over  her  shoulder.  He  shut  the  door, 
and  went  upstairs  to  Mrs.  Simpson's  room,  braying 
like  a  donkey.  ) 

"Well,  Jezebel,"  he  cried.  "Well,  Polly.  Well, 
Mrs.  Quickly.     How  are  you?" 

"I  never  was  so  ashamed  in  my  life,  Mr.  Jack. 
There  were  those  young  ladies  only  too  anxious  to  do 
what  they  could  for  you,  and  you  like  a  bear.     No 


Love  Among  the  Artists  99 

wonder  you  can't  get  on,  when  you  won't  control  your- 
self and  have  behavior." 

"I  am  a  bear,  am  I?  You  had  better  recollect  that 
I  am  a  hungry  bear,  and  that  if  my  dinner  does  not 
come  up,  you  will  get  a  hug  that  will  break  every 
bone  in  your  stays.  Don't  forget  the  music  paper. 
You  have  plenty  of  money  now.  Four  pounds  four 
and  a  penny,  eh?" 

"You've  no  call  to  fear:  none  of  it  will  be  stolen. 
Miss  Madge  thought  you  hadn't  counted  it.  Little 
did  she  know  you. ' ' 

"She  knew  me  better  than  you,  you  sordid  hag.  I 
counted  my  money  that  morning — four  pounds  nine 
and  sevenpence.  I  gave  the  railway  clerk  ten  shil- 
lings; he  gave  me  five  back — that  left  four  pounds 
four  and  sevenpence.  I  arrived  here  with  sixpence 
in  my  pocket;  and  from  that  I  knew  that  I  gave  her 
four,  four,  and  a  penny.  That  reminds  me  that  you 
sat  there  and  let  Miss  Sutherland  go  away  without 
making  me  ask  her  to  send  on  my  portmanteau,  now 
that  I  have  money  to  pay  the  carriage.  You're  very 
stupid." 

"How  could  I  tell  whether  you  wanted  me  to 
mention  it  or  not?  I  was  thinking  of  it  all  the  time; 
but " 

"You  were  thinking  of  it  all  the  time!"  cried  Jack, 
in  a  frenzy.  "And  you  never  mentioned  it!  Here 
go  for  my  dinner.  You  would  drive  the  most  patient 
man  living  out  of  his  senses." 


CHAPTER  VI 

When  Mrs.  Beatty  had  been  a  fortnight  in  the  Isle 
of  Wight  with  her  brother's  family,  her  husband  came 
down  from  Windsor  to  see  her.  On  the  morning  after 
his  arrival,  they  were  together  in  the  garden,  he 
smoking,  and  she  in  a  rocking  chair  near  him,  with  a 
newspaper  in  her  hand. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  after  a  preliminary  cough. 

"Yes,  Richard."  said  she  amiably,  putting  down  the 
paper. 

"I  was  saying  last  night  that  Clifton  is  leaving  us." 

"Oh,  the  bandmaster!  Yes."  Mrs.  Beatty  was  not 
interested,  and  she  took  up  the  paper  again. 

"Mary  was  speaking  to  me  about  it  this  morning." 

Mrs.  Beatty  put  down  the  paper  decisively,  and 
looked  at  her  husband. 

"She  wants  me  to  get  that  fellow — Charlie's  tutor — 
into  Clifton's  place.  I  don't  know  whether  he  is  fit 
for  it?" 

"You  don't  know  whether  he  is  fit  for  it!  Pray, 
Richard,  did  you  allow  Mary  to  think  that  we  will 
countenance  any  further  transactions  between  her  and 
that  man." 

"I  thought  I  would  speak  to  you  about  it." 

"She  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself.  Don't  listen 
to  her  on  any  account,  Richard." 

"Well,  will  you  speak  to  her?  It  is  not  exactly  a 
subject  that  I  can  take  her  to  task  about;  and  I  really 

xoo 


Love  Among  the  Artists  loi 

don't  exactly  know  what  to  say  to  her  when  she 
comes  at  me.  She  always  argues;  and  I  hate 
argument." 

"Then  I  suppose  I  must  face  her  arguments — I  will 
make  short  work  of  them  too.  Whenever  there  is 
anything  pleasant  to  be  said  in  the  family,  you  are 
willing  enough  to  take  it  out  of  my  mouth.  The 
unpleasant  things  are  left  to  me.  Then  people  say, 
'Poor  Colonel  Beatty:  he  has  such  a  disagreeable 
wife.'  " 

"Who  says  so?" 

"It  is  not  your  fault  if  they  do  not  say  so." 

"If  the  fellow  comes  into  the  regiment,  he  will  soon 
be  taught  how  to  behave  himself.  Though  for  all  I 
have  seen  to  the  contrary,  he  can  behave  himself  well 
enough.  That  is  my  dii^culty  in  talking  to  Mary.  If 
she  has  no  fault  to  find  with  him,  I  am  sure  I  have 
none." 

"You  are  going  to  take  his  part  against  me.  Colonel 
Beatty.  It  does  not  matter  that  he  repeatedly  insulted 
me — everybody  does  that.  But  I  thought  j'ou  might 
have  had  some  little  fault  to  find  with  a  person  who 
debauched  your  men  and  held  drunken  orgies  in  my 
brother's  house." 

"Well,  Jane,  if  you  come  to  that,  you  know  very 
well  that  Charles  was  an  incorrigible  scamp  long 
enough  before  Jack  ever  met  him.  As  to  bringing 
him  to  play  at  Beulah,  Charles  got  five  shillings  for 
his  trouble,  and  went  as  he  might  have  gone  to  one  of 
your  dances.  He  spoke  to  me  of  Jack  as  a  gentleman 
who  had  employed  him,  not  as  a  comrade." 

"To  you,  no  doubt  he  did.  Adrian  Herbert  heard 
how  he  spoke  to  Jack. " 


I02  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Besides,  Mary  expressly  says  that  she  does  not 
complain  of  that  at  all." 

"And  what  does  she  complain  of?" 

Colonel  Beatty  considered  for  a  moment,  and  then 
answered,  "She  does  not  complain  of  anything,  as 
far  as  I  can  make  out, ' ' 

"Indeed!  She  dismissed  him.  You  will  at  least 
not  deny  that. ' ' 

"My  dear,  I  am  not  denying  anyth " 

"Then  let  nothing  induce  you  to  bring  them 
together  again.  You  ought  to  understand  that  much 
without  any  hint  from  me,  knowing,  as  you  do,  what 
a  strange  girl  she  is." 

"Why?  Do  you  think  there  is  anything  between 
them?" 

"I  never  said  so.     I  know  very  well  what  I  think." 

Colonel  Beatty  smoked  a  while  in  silence.  Then, 
seeing  Mary  come  from  the  house,  carrying  a  box  of 
colors,  he  busied  himself  with  his  pipe,  and  strolled 
away. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Mary. 

"Nothing  that  I  am  aware  of,"  said  Mrs.  Beatty. 
"Why?" 

"You  do  not  look  happy.  And  Uncle  Richard's 
shoulders  have  a  resigned  set,  as  if  he  had  been  blown 
up  lately. ' ' 

"Ha!  Oh!  You  are  a  wonderful  observer,  Mary. 
Are  you  going  out?" 

"I  am  waiting  for  Adrian." 

Mary  went  round  the  garden  in  search  of  a  flower. 
She  was  adorning  her  bosom  with  one,  when  Mrs. 
Beatty,  who  had  been  pretending  to  read,  could  con- 
tain herself  no  longer,  and  exclaimed : 


Love  Among  the  Artists  103 

"Now,  Mary,  it  is  of  no  use  your  asking  Richard  to 
get  that  man  as  bandmaster.     He  shall  not  do  it." 

"So  that  is  what  was  the  matter,"  said  Mary  coolly. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,  Mary.  He  shall  never  show 
his  face  in  Windsor  again  with  my  consent." 

"He  shows  his  face  there  once  a  week  already, 
aunt.  Miss  Cairns  writes  to  say  that  he  has  a  singing 
class  at  their  house,  and  three  pianoforte  pupils  in 
the  neighborhood, ' ' 

"If  I  had  known  that,"  said  Mrs.  Beatty,  angrily,  "I 
should  not  have  left  Windsor.  It  is  of  a  piece  with  the 
rest  of  his  conduct.  However,  no  matter.  We  shall 
see  how  long  he  will  keep  his  pupils  after  I  go  back. ' ' 

"Why,  aunt?  Would  you  take  away  his  livelihood 
because  you  do  not  happen  to  like  him  personally?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  his  livelihood.  I  do  not 
consider  it  proper  for  him  to  be  at  Windsor,  after 
being  dismissed  by  Richard.  There  are  plenty  of 
other  places  for  him  to  go  to.  I  have  quite  made  up 
my  mind  on  the  subject.  If  you  attempt  to  dispute 
me,  I  shall  be  offended. ' ' 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  too.  Whatever  mischief 
you  may  do  to  Mr.  Jack  at  Windsor  will  be  imputed  to 
me,  aunt." 

"I  never  said  that  I  would  do  him  any  mischief." 

"You  said  you  would  drive  him  out  of  Windsor. 
As  he  lives  by  his  teaching,  I  think  that  would  be  as 
great  a  mischief  as  it  is  in  your  power  to  do  him. ' ' 

"Well,  I  cannot  help  it.     It  is  your  fault." 

"If  I  have  helped  to  get  him  the  pupils,  and  am 
begging  you  not  to  interfere  with  him,  how  is  it  my 
fault?" 

"Ah!     I  thought  you  had  something  to  do  with  it. 


I04  Love  Among  the  Artists 

And  now  let  me  tell  you,  Mary,  that  it  is  perfectly 
disgraceful,  the  open  way  in  which  you  hanker 
after " 

"Aunt!" 

" that  common  man.     I  wonder  at  a  girl  of  your 

tastes  and  understanding  having  so  little  self-respect 
as  to  let  everybody  see  that  your  head  has  been 
turned  by  a  creature  without  polish  or  appearance — 
not  even  a  gentleman.  And  all  this  too  while  you  are 
engaged  to  Adrian  Herbert,  his  very  opposite  in  every 
respect.  I  tell  you,  Mary,  it's  not  proper:  it's  not 
decent.     A  tutor!     If  it  were  anybody  else  it  would 

not  matter  so  much;  but Oh  for  shame,  Mary, 

for  shame!" 

"Aunt  Jane " 

"Hush,  for  goodness  sake.     Here  he  is." 

"Who?"  cried  Mary,  turning  quickly.  But  it  was 
only  Adrian,  equipped  for  sketching. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said  gaily,  but  with  a  thought- 
ful, polite  gaiety.  "This  is  the  very  sky  we  want  for 
that  bit  of  the  underclifE." 

"We  were  just  saying  how  late  you  were,"  said 
Mrs.  Beatty  graciously.  He  shook  her  hand,  and 
looked  in  some  surprise  at  Mary,  whose  expression, 
as  she  stood  motionless,  puzzled  him. 

"Do  you  know  what  we  were  really  saying  when 
you  interrupted  us,  Adrian?" 

"Mary,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Beatty. 

"Aunt  Jane  was  telling  me,"  continued  Mary,  not 
heeding  her,  "that  I  was  hankering  after  Mr.  Jack, 
and  that  my  conduct  was  not  decent.  Have  you  ever 
remarked  anything  indecent  about  my  conduct, 
Adrian?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  105 

Herbert  looked  helplessly  from  her  to  her  aunt  in 
silence.  Mrs.  Beatty's  confusion,  culminating  in  a 
burst  of  tears,  relieved  him  from  answering. 

"Do  not  listen  to  her,"  she  said  presently,  striving 
to  control  herself.     "She  is  an  ungrateful  girl." 

"I  have  quoted  her  exact  words,"  said  Mary, 
unmoved;  "and  I  am  certainly  not  grateful  for  them. 
Come,  Adrian.  We  had  better  lose  no  more  time  if 
we  are  to  finish  our  sketches  before  luncheon?" 

"But  we  cannot  leave  Mrs.  Beatty  in  this " 

"Never  mind  me:  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  for 
giving  way,  Mr.  Herbert.  It  was  not  your  fault.  I 
had  rather  not  detain  you. ' ' 

Adrian  hesitated.  But  seeing  that  he  had  better  go, 
he  took  up  his  bundle  of  easels  and  stools,  and  went 
out  with  Mary,  who  did  not  even  look  at  her  aunt. 
They  had  gone  some  distance  before  either  spoke. 
Then  he  said,  "I  hope  Mrs.  Beatty  has  not  been 
worrying  you,  Mary?"  » 

"If  she  has,  I  do  not  think  she  will  do  it  again  with- 
out serious  reflexion.  I  have  found  that  the  way  to 
deal  with  worldly  people  is  to  frighten  them  by 
repeating  their  scandalous  whisperings  aloud.  Oh,  I 
was  very  angry  that  time,  Adrian." 

"But  what  brought  Jack  on  the  carpet  again?  I 
thought  we  were  rid  of  him  and  done  with  him?" 

"I  heard  that  he  was  very  badly  off  in  London;  and 
I  asked  Colonel  Beatty  to  get  him  made  bandmaster  of 
the  regiment  in  place  of  John  Sebastian  Clifton — the 
man  you  used  to  laugh  at — who  is  going  to  America. 
Then  Aunt  Jane  interfered,  and  imputed  motives  to 
my  intercession — such  motives  as  she  could  appreciate 
herself." 


io6  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"But  how  did  you  find  out  Jack's  position  in 
London?" 

"From  Madge  Brailsford,  who  is  taking  lessons 
from  him.     Why?     Are  you  jealous?" 

"If  you  really  mean  that  question,  it  will  spoil  my 
day's  work,  or  rather  my  day's  pleasure;  for  my  work 
is  all  pleasure,  nowadays." 

"No,  of  course  I  do  not  mean  it.  I  beg  your 
pardon, ' ' 

"Will  you  make  a  new  contract  with  me,  Mary?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"Never  to  allude  to  that  execrable  musician  again. 
I  have  remarked  that  his  name  alone  suffices  to  breed 
discord  everywhere." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Mary,  laughing.  "I  have  quar- 
relled a  little  with  Madge,  a  great  deal  with  Aunt 
Jane,  almost  with  you,  and  quite  with  Charlie  about 
him." 

"Then  let  us  consider  him,  from  henceforth,  in  the 
Index  expiirgatoriiis.  I  swear  never  to  mention  him 
on  a  sketching  excursion — never  at  all,  in  fact,  unless 
on  very  urgent  occasion,  which  is  not  likely  to  arise. 
Will  you  swear  also?" 

"I  swear,"  said  Mary,  raising  her  hand.  "  *Z^ 
giurOy'  as  they  say  in  the  Opera.  But  without 
prejudice  to  his  bandmastership. " 

"As  to  that,  I  am  afraid  you  have  spoiled  his  chance 
with  Colonel  Aunt  Jane?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mary  slowly:  "I  forgot  that.  I  was 
thinking  only  of  my  own  outraged  feelings  when  I 
took  my  revenge.  And  I  had  intended  to  coax  her 
into  seconding  me  in  the  matter." 

Herbert  laughed. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  107 

**It  is  not  at  all  a  thing  to  be  laughed  at,  Adrian, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it.  I  used  to  fancy  that  I 
had  set  myself  aside  from  the  ordinary  world  to  live 
a  higher  life  than  most  of  those  about  me.  But  I  am 
beginning  to  find  out  that  when  I  have  to  act,  I  do 
very  much  as  they  do.  As  I  suppose  they  judge  me 
by  my  actions  and  not  by  my  inner  life,  no  doubt  they 
see  me  much  as  I  see  them.  Perhaps  they  have  an 
inner  life  too.  If  so,  the  only  difference  between  us  is 
that  I  have  trained  my  eye  to  see  more  material  for 
pictures  in  a  landscape  than  they.  They  may  even 
enjoy  the  landscape  as  much,  without  knowing  why." 

"Do  you  know  why?" 

'*I  suppose  not.  I  mean  that  I  can  point  out  those 
aspects  of  the  landscape  which  please  me,  and  they 
cannot.  But  that  is  not  a  moral  difference.  Art 
cannot  take  us  out  of  the  world. '  * 

"Not  if  we  are  worldly,  Mary." 

*'But  how  can  we  help  being  worldly?  I  was  born 
into  the  world :  I  have  lived  all  my  life  in  it :  I  have 
never  seen  or  known  a  person  or  thing  that  did  not 
belong  to  it.  How  can  I  be  anything  else  than 
wordly?" 

"Does  the  sun  above  us  belong  to  it,  Mary?  Do  the 
stars,  the  dreams  that  poets  have  left  us,  the  realms 
that  painters  have  shewn  us,  the  thoughts  you  and  I 
interchange  sometimes  when  nothing  has  occurred  to 
disturb  your  faith?     Do  these  things  belong  to  it?" 

"I  don't  believe  they  belong  exclusively  to  us  two. 
If  they  did,  I  think  we  should  be  locked  up  as  lunatics 
for  perceiving  them.  Do  you  know,  Adrian,  lots  of 
people  whom  we  consider  quite  foreign  to  us 
spiritually,   are  very   romantic    in    their   own    way. 


io8  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Aunt  Jane  cries  over  novels  which  make  me  laugh. 
Your  mother  reads  a  good  deal  of  history,  and  she 
likes  pictures.  I  remember  when  she  used  to  sing 
very  nicely." 

"Yes.  She  likes  pictures,  provided  they  are  not  too 
good." 

"She  says  the  same  of  you.  And  really,  when  she 
pats  me  on  the  shoulder  in  her  wise  way,  and  asks  me 
when  I  will  be  tired  of  playing  at  what  she  calls 
transcendentalism,  I  hear,  or  fancy  I  hear,  an  echo  of 
her  thought  in  my  own  mind.  I  have  been  very 
happy  in  my  art  studies;  and  I  don't  think  I  shall 
ever  find  a  way  of  life  more  tranquil  and  pleasant 
than  they  led  me  to ;  but,  for  all  that,  I  have  a  notion 
sometimes  that  it  is  a  way  of  life  which  I  am  out- 
growing. I  am  getting  wickeder  as  I  get  older,  very 
likely." 

"You  think  so  for  the  moment.  If  you  leave  your 
art,  the  world  will  beat  you  back  to  it.  The  world 
has  not  an  ambition  worth  sharing,  or  a  prize  worth 
handling.  Corrupt  successes,  disgraceful  failures,  or 
sheeplike  vegetation  are  all  it  has  to  offer.  I  prefer 
Art,  which  gives  me  a  sixth  sense  of  beauty,  with 
self-respect:  perhaps  also  an  immortal  reputation  in 
return  for  honest  endeavor  in  a  labor  of  love." 

"Yes,  Adrian.  That  used  to  suffice  for  me:  indeed, 
it  does  so  still  when  I  am  in  the  right  frame  of  mind. 
But  other  worlds  are  appearing  vaguely  on  the 
horizon.  Perhaps  woman's  art  is  of  woman's  life  a 
thing  apart,  'tis  man's  whole  existence;  just  as  love  is 
said  to  be  the  reverse — though  it  isn't. " 

"It  does  not  scan  that  way,"  said  Adrian,  with  an 
uneasy  effort  to  be  flippant. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  109 

"No,"  said  Mary,  laughing-.     "This  is  the  place." 

"Yes,"  said  Adrian,  unstrapping  the  easels.  "You 
must  paint  off  the  fit  of  depression  that  is  seizing  you. 
The  wind  has  gone  round  to  the  south-west.  What 
an  exquisite  day!" 

"It  is  a  little  oppressive,  I  think.  I  am  just  in  the 
humor  for  a  sharp  evening  breeze,  with  the  sea  broken 
up  into  slate  color  waves,  and  the  yachts  ripping  them 
up  in  their  hurry  home.  Thank  you,  I  would  rather 
have  the  stool  that  has  no  back :  I  will  settle  the  rest 
myself.     Adrian:  do  you  think  me  ill-tempered?" 

"What  a  question  to  explode  on  me!     Why?" 

"No  matter  why.     Answer  my  question." 

"I  think  you  always  control  yourself  admirably." 

"You  mean  when  I  am  angry?" 

"Yes." 

"But,  putting  my  self-control  out  of  the  question, 
do  you  think  I  get  angry  often — too  often,  even 
though  I  do  not  let  my  anger  get  the  better  of  me?" 

"Not  too  often,  certainly." 

"But  often?" 

"Well,  no.  That  is,  not  absolutely  angry.  I  think 
you  are  quick  to  perceive  and  repel  an  attack,  even 
when  it  is  only  thoughtlessly  implied.  But  now  we 
must  drop  introspection  for  the  present,  Mary.  If  our 
sketches  are  to  be  finished  before  luncheon,  I  must 
work  hard ;  and  so  must  you.  No  more  conversation 
until  a  quarter  past  one." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Mary,  taking  her  seat  on  the 
campstool.  They  painted  silently  for  two  hours, 
interrupted  occasionally  by  strollers,  who  stopped  to 
look  on,  much  to  Herbert's  annoyance,  and  somewhat 
to  Mary's    gratification.     Meanwhile    the    day    grew 


no  Love  Among  the  Artists 

warmer  and  warmer;  and  the  birds  and  insects  sang 
and  shrilled  incessantly. 

"Finished,"  said  Mary  at  last,  putting  down  her 
palette.  "And  not  in  the  least  like  nature.  I 
ventured  a  little  Prussian  blue  in  that  corner  of  the 
sky,  with  disastrous  results." 

"I  will  look  presently,"  said  Herbert,  without  turn- 
ing from  his  canvas.  "It  will  take  at  least  another 
day  to  finish  mine. ' ' 

"You  are  too  conscientious,  Adrian.  I  feel  sure 
your  sketches  have  too  much  work  in  them." 

"I  have  seen  many  pictures  without  enough  work 
in  them :  never  one  with  too  much.  I  suppose  I  must 
stop  now  for  the  present.     It  is  time  to  return." 

"Yes,"  said  Mary,  packing  her  sketching  furniture. 
"Oh  dear!  As  Faulconbridge  says,  'Now,  by  my  life, 
the  day  grows  wondrous  hot. '  Faulconbridge,  by  the 
bye,  would  have  thought  us  a  pair  of  fools.  Never- 
theless I  like  him." 

"I  am  sorry  to  hear  it.  Most  women  like  men  who 
are  arrogant  bullies.     Let  me  see  your  sketch," 

"It  is  not  a  masterpiece,  as  you  may  perceive." 

"No.  You  are  impatient,  Mary,  and  draw  with  a 
stiff,  heavy  hand.  Look  before  you  into  the  haze. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  an  outline  in  the  landscape. " 

"I  cannot  help  it.  I  try  to  soften  everything  as 
much  as  possible ;  but  it  only  makes  the  colors  look 
sodden.  It  is  all  nonsense  my  trying  to  paint.  I  shall 
give  it  up." 

"Must  I  pay  you  compliments  to  keep  up  your 
courage?  You  are  unusually  diffident  to-day.  You 
have  done  the  cottage  and  the  potato  field  better 
than  I." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  iii 

"Very  likely.  My  touch  suits  potato  fields.  I  think 
I  had  better  make  a  specialty  of  them.  Since  I  can 
paint  neither  sky  nor  sea  nor  golden  grain,  I  shall 
devote  myself  to  potato  fields  in  wet  weather." 

Herbert,  glancing  up  at  her  as  he  stooped  to 
shoulder  his  easel,  did  not  answer.  A  little  later, 
when  they  were  on  their  way  home,  he  said,  "Are  you 
conscious  of  any  change  in  yourself  since  you  came 
down  here,  Mary?" 

"No.  What  kind  of  change?"  She  had  been 
striding  along  beside  him,  looking  boldly  ahead  in  her 
usual  alert  manner;  but  now  she  slackened  her  pace, 
and  turned  her  eyes  uneasily  downward. 

"I  have  noticed  a  certain  falling  off  in  the  steady 
seriousness  that  used  to  be  your  chief  characteristic. 
You  are  becoming  a  little  inconsiderate  and  even 
frivolous  about  things  that  you  formerly  treated  with 
unvarying  sympathy  and  reverence.  This  makes  me 
anxious.  Our  engagement  is  likely  to  be  such  a  long 
one,  that  the  least  change  in  you  alarms  me.  Mary: 
is  it  that  you  are  getting  tired  of  Art,  or  only  of  me?" 

"Oh,  absurd!  nonsense,  Adrian!" 

"There  is  nothing  of  your  old  seriousness  in  that 
answer,  Mary." 

"It  is  not  so  much  a  question  as  a  reproach  that  you 
put  to  me.  You  should  have  more  confidence  in 
yourself;  and  then  you  would  not  fear  my  getting 
tired  of  you.  As  to  Art,  I  am  not  exactly  getting 
tired  of  it ;  but  I  find  that  I  cannot  live  on  Art  alone ; 
and  I  am  beginning  to  doubt  whether  I  might  not 
spend  my  time  better  than  in  painting,  at  which  I  am 
sure  I  shall  never  do  much  good.  If  Art  were  a  game 
of  pure  skill,  I  should  persevere;  but  it  is  like  whist, 


112  Love  Among  the  Artists 

chance  and  skill  mixed.  Nature  may  have  given  you 
her  ace  of  trumps — genius;  but  she  has  not  given  me 
any  trumps  at  all — not  even  court  cards. " 

"If  we  all  threw  up  our  cards  merely  because  we 
had  not  the  ace  of  trumps  in  our  hand,  I  fear  there 
would  be  no  more  whist  played  in  the  world.  But, 
to  drop  your  metaphor,  which  I  do  not  like,  I  can 
assure  you  that  Nature  has  been  kinder  to  you  than  to 
me.  I  had  to  work  harder  and  longer  than  you  have 
worked  before  I  could  paint  as  well  as  you  can. ' ' 

"That  sort  of  encouragement  kept  up  my  ardor  for 
a  long  time,  Adrian;  but  its  power  is  exhausted  now. 
In  future  I  may  sketch  to  amuse  myself  and  to  keep 
mementos  of  the  places  with  which  I  have  pleasant 
associations,  but  not  to  elevate  my  tastes  and  perfect 
my  morals.  Perhaps  it  is  that  change  of  intention 
which  makes  me  frivolous,  as  you  say  I  have  suddenly 
become." 

"And  since  when,"  said  Herbert,  gravely,  "have 
you  meditated  this  very  important  change?" 

"I  never  meditated  it  at  all.  It  came  upon  me 
unawares.  I  did  not  even  know  what  it  was  until 
your  question  forced  me  to  give  an  account  of  it. 
What  an  infidel  I  am!  But  tell  me  this,  Adrian.  If 
you  suddenly  found  yourself  a  Turner,  Titian,  Michael 
Angelo,  and  Holbein  all  rolled  into  one,  would  you 
be  a  bit  happier.?" 

"I  cannot  conceive  how  you  can  doubt  it." 

"I  know  you  would  paint  better"  (Herbert  winced), 
"but  it  is  not  at  all  obvious  to  me  that  you  would  be 
happier.  However,  I  am  in  a  silly  humor  to-day;  for 
I  can  see  nothing  in  a  proper  way.  We  had  better 
talk  about  something  else. ' ' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  113 

"The  humor  has  lasted  for  some  days,  already, 
Mary.  x\nd  it  must  be  talked  about,  and  seriously 
too,  if  you  have  concluded,  like  my  mother,  that  I  am 
wasting  my  life  in  pursuit  of  a  chimera.  Has  she 
been  speaking  to  you  about  me?" 

"Oh,  Adrian,  you  are  accusing  me  of  treachery. 
You  must  not  think,  because  I  have  lost  faith  in  my 
own  artistic  destiny,  that  I  have  lost  faith  in  yours 
also." 

"I  fear,  if  you  have  lost  your  respect  for  Art,  you 
have  lost  your  respect  for  me.  If  so,  you  know  that 
you  may  consider  yourself  free  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned. You  must  not  hold  yourself  in  bondage  to  a 
dreamer,  as  people  consider  me." 

"I  do  not  exactly  understand.  Are  you  offering  me 
my  liberty,  or  claiming  your  own?" 

"I  am  offering  you  yours.  I  think  you  might  have 
guessed  that." 

"I  don't  think  I  might.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  be 
invited  to  consider  oneself  free.  If  you  really  wish  it, 
I  shall  consider  myself  so." 

"The  question  is,  do  you  wish  it?" 

"Excuse  me,  Adrian:  the  question  is,  do  you  wish 
it?" 

"My  feelings  towards  you  are  quite  unchanged." 

"And  so  are  mine  towards  you," 

After  this  they  walked  for  a  little  time  in  silence. 
Then  Mary  said,  "Adrian:  do  you  remember  our 
congratulating  ourselves  last  June  on  our  immunity 
from  the  lovers'  quarrels  which  occur  in  the  vulgar 
world?  I  think — perhaps  it  is  due  to  my  sudden 
secession  from  the  worship  of  Art — I  think  we  made 
a  sort  of  first  attempt  at  one  that  time. ' ' 


114  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Ha!  ha!  Yes.  But  we  failed,  did  we  not, 
Mary?" 

"Thanks  to  our  inexperience,  we  did.  But  not  very 
disgracefully.  We  shall  succeed  better  the  next  time, 
most  likely." 

"Then  I  hope  the  next  time  will  never  come." 

"I  hope  not."     Here  they  reached  the  garden  gate. 

"You  must  come  in  and  lunch  with  us,  to  save  me 
from  facing  Aunt  Jane  alone  after  my  revenge  upon 
her  this  morning. ' ' 

Then  they  went  in  together,  and  found  that  Mrs. 
Herbert  had  called,  and  was  at  table  with  the  Colonel 
and  Mrs.  Beatty. 

"Are  we  late?"  said  Mary. 

Mrs.  Beatty  closed  her  lips  and  did  not  reply.  The 
Colonel  hastened  to  say  that  they  had  only  just  sat 
down.  Mrs.  Herbert  promptly  joined  in  the  conver- 
sation; and  the  meal  proceeded  without  Mrs.  Beatty 's 
determination  not  to  speak  to  her  neice  becoming 
unpleasantly  obvious,  until  Mary  put  on  her  eye- 
glasses, and  said,  looking  at  her  aunt  in  her  searching 
myopic  way: 

"Aunt  Jane:  will  you  come  with  me  to  the  two- 
forty  train  to  meet  papa?" 

Mrs.  Beatty  maintained  her  silence  for  a  few  seconds. 
Then  she  reddened,  and  said  sulkily,  "No,  Mary,  I 
will  not.     You  can  do  without  me  very  well. ' ' 

"Adrian:  will  you  come?" 

"Unfortunately,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  "Adrian  is 
bound  to  me  for  the  afternoon.  We  are  going  to 
Portsmouth  to  pay  a  visit.  It  is  time  for  us  to  go 
now,"  she  added,  looking  at  her  watch  and  rising. 

During  the    leave  taking  which  followed,   Colonel 


Love  Among  the  Artists  115 

Beatty  got  his  hat,  judging  that  he  had  better  go  out 
with  the  Herberts  than  stay  between  his  wife  and 
Mary  in  their  present  tempers.  But  Mrs.  Beatty  did 
not  care  to  face  her  niece  alone.  When  the  guests 
were  gone,  she  moved  towards  the  door. 

"Aunt,"  said  Mary,  "don't  go  yet.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you. ' ' 

Mrs.  Beatty  did  not  turn. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mary.  "But  remember,  aunt,  if 
there  is  to  be  a  quarrel,  it  will  not  be  of  my  making." 

Mrs.  Beatty  hesitated,  and  said,  "As  soon  as  you 
express  your  sorrow  for  your  conduct  this  morning,  I 
will  speak  to  you. ' ' 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  what  passed."  Mary  looked  at 
her  aunt  as  she  spoke,  not  contritely.  Mrs.  Beatty, 
dissatisfied,  held  the  door  handle  for  a  moment  longer, 
then  slowly  came  back  and  sat  down.  "I  am  sure 
you  ought  to  be, ' '  she  said. 

"I  am  sure yoii  ought  to  be,"  said  Mary. 

"What!"  cried  Mrs.  Beatty,  about  to  rise  again. 

"You  should  have  taken  what  I  said  as  an  apology, 
and  let  well  alone,"  said  Mary.  "lam  sorry  that  I 
resented  your  accusation  this  morning  in  a  way  that 
might  have  made  mischief  between  me  and  Adrian. 
But  you  had  no  right  to  say  what  you  did ;  and  I  had 
every  right  to  be  angry  with  you." 

' '  Vo7(  have  a  right  to  be  angry  with  me/  Do  you 
know  who  I  am.  Miss?" 

"Aunt,  if  you  are  going  to  call  me  'Miss,' we  had 
better  stop  talking  altogether." 

Mrs.  Beatty  saw  extreme  vexation  in  her  niece's 
expression,  and  even  a  tear  in  her  eye.  She  resolved 
to   assert    her    authority.      "Mary,"   she    said:    "do 


ii6  Love  Among  the  Artists 

you  wish  to  provoke  me  into  sending  you  to  your 
room?" 

Mary  rose,  "Aunt  Jane,"  she  said,  "if  you  don't 
choose  to  treat  me  with  due  respect,  as  you  have  to 
treat  other  women,  we  must  live  apart.  If  you  cannot 
understand  my  feelings,  at  least  you  know  my  age  and 
position.  This  is  the  second  time  you  have  insulted 
me  to-day,"  She  went  to  the  door,  looking  indig- 
nantly at  her  aunt  as  she  passed.  The  look  was 
returned  by  one  of  alarm,  as  though  Mrs,  Beatty  were 
going  to  cry  again,  Mary,  seeing  this,  restrained 
her  anger  with  an  effort  as  she  reached  the  threshold ; 
stood  still  for  a  moment;  and  then  came  back  to  the 
table, 

"I  am  a  fool  to  lose  my  temper  with  3^ou,  aunt," 
she  said,  dropping  into  the  rocking  chair  with  an  air 
of  resolute  good  humor,  which  became  her  less  than 
her  anger;  "but  really  you  are  very  aggravating. 
Now,  don't  make  dignified  speeches  to  me:  it  makes 
me  feel  like  a  housemaid ;  and  I  am  sure  it  makes  you 
feel  like  a  cook,"  Mrs,  Beatty  colored.  In  temper 
and  figure  she  was  sufficiently  like  the  cook  of 
caricature  to  make  the  allusion  disagreeable  to  her, 
"I  always  feel  ridiculous  and  remorseful  after  a 
quarrel,"  continued  Mary,  "whether  I  am  in  the  right 
or  not — if  there  be  any  right  in  a  quarrel," 

"You  are  a  very  strange  girl,"  said  Mrs,  Beatty, 
ruefully,  "When  I  was  your  age,  I  would  not  have 
dared  to  speak  to  my  elders  as  you  speak  to  me, " 

"When  you  were  young,"  responded  Mary,  "the 
world  was  in  a  state  of  barbarism ;  and  young  people 
used  to  spoil  the  old  people,  just  as  you  fancy  the  old 
spoil   the  young  nowadays.     Besides,  you  are  not  so 


Love  Among  the  Artists  117 

very    much    my   elder,    after   all.     I   can    remember 
quite  well  when  you  were  married." 

"That  may  be,"  said  Mrs.  Beatty,  gravely.  "It  is 
not  so  much  my  age,  perhaps;  but  you  should 
remember,  Mary,  that  I  am  related  to  your  father." 

"So  am  I." 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,  child.  Ah,  what  a  pity  it  is 
that  you  have  no  mother,  Mary!  It  is  a  greater  loss 
to  you  than  you  think. ' ' 

"It  is  time  to  go  to  meet  papa,"  said  Mary,  rising. 
"I  hope  Uncle  Richard  will  be  at  the  station." 

"Why?  What  do  you  want  with  your  Uncle 
Richard?" 

"Only  to  tell  him  that  we  are  on  good  terms  again, 
and  that  he  may  regard  Mr.  Jack  as  his  future  band- 
master."  She  hurried  away  as  she  spoke;  and  Mrs. 
Beatty's  protest  was  wasted  on  the  old-fashioned 
sideboard. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Miss  Cairns,  of  whom  Mary  Sutherland  had  spoken 
to  her  aunt,  was  an  unmarried  lady  of  thirty-four. 
She  had  read  much  for  the  purpose  of  remembering  it 
at  examinations;  had  taken  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of 
Science ;  had  written  two  articles  on  Woman  Suffrage, 
and  one  on  the  Higher  Education  of  Women,  for  a 
Radical  review;  and  was  an  earnest  contender  for  the 
right  of  her  sex  to  share  in  all  public  functions. 
Having  in  her  student  days  resolved  not  to  marry, 
she  had  kept  her  resolution,  and  endeavored  to 
persuade  other  girls  to  follow  her  example,  which  a 
few,  who  could  not  help  themselves,  did.  But  as  she 
approached  her  fortieth  year,  and  found  herself  tiring 
of  books,  lectures,  university  examinations  of  women, 
and  second-hand  ideas  and  sensations  in  general,  she 
ceased  to  dissuade  her  friends  from  marrying,  and 
even  addicted  herself  with  some  zest  to  advising  and 
gossiping  on  the  subject  of  their  love  affairs.  With 
Mary  Sutherland,  who  had  been  her  pupil,  and  was 
one  of  her  most  intimate  friends,  she  frequently  corre- 
sponded on  the  subject  of  Art,  for  which  she  had  a 
vast  reverence,  based  on  extensive  reading  and  entire 
practical  ignorance  of  the  subject.  She  knew  Adrian, 
and  had  gained  Mary's  gratitude  by  pronouncing  him 
a  great  artist,  though  she  had  not  seen  his  works.  In 
person  she  was  a  slight,  plain  woman,  with  small  fea- 
tures,   soft  brown   hair,    and   a   pleasant   expression. 

ii8 


Love  Among  the  Artists  119 

Much  sedentary  plodding  had  accustomed  her  to  deli- 
cate health,  but  had  not  soured  her  temper,  or  dulled 
her  habitual  cheerfulness. 

Early  in  September,  she  wrote  to  Mary  Sutherland. 

"Newton  Villa,  Windsor, 

"4th  September. 

"Dearest  Mary: — Many  thanks  for  your  pleasant 
letter,  which  makes  me  long  to  be  at  the  seaside.  I 
am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  losing  interest  in  your 
painting.  Tell  Mr.  Herbert  that  I  am  surprised  at 
his  not  keeping  you  up  to  your  work  better.  When 
you  come  back,  you  shall  have  a  good  lecture  from 
me  on  the  subject  of  luke-warm  endeavor  and  laziness 
generally :  however,  if  you  are  really  going  to  study 
music  instead,  I  excuse  you. 

"You  will  not  be  pleased  to  hear  that  the  singing 
class  is  broken  up.  Mr.  Jack,  unstable  as  dynamite, 
exploded  yesterday,  and  scattered  our  poor  choir  in 
dismay  to  their  homes.  It  happened  in  this  way. 
There  was  a  garden  party  at  Mrs.  Griffith's,  to  which 
all  the  girls  were  invited;  and  accordingly  they 
appeared  at  class  in  gay  attire,  and  were  rather  talka- 
tive and  inattentive.  Mr.  Jack  arrived  punctually, 
looking  black  as  thunder.  He  would  not  even 
acknowledge  my  greeting.  Just  before  he  came  in, 
Louisa  White  had  been  strumming  over  a  new  set  of 
quadrilles;  and  she  unfortunately  left  the  music  on  the 
desk  of  the  pianoforte.  Mr.  Jack,  without  saying  a 
word  to  us,  sat  down  on  the  music  stool,  and,  of 
course,  saw  poor  Louisa's  quadrilles,  which  he 
snatched,  tore  across,  and  threw  on  the  floor.  There 
was  a  dead  silence,  and  Louisa  looked  at  me,  expecting 
me  to  interfere,  but — I  confess  it — I  was  afraid  to. 
Even  you,  audacious  as  you  are,  would  have  hesitated 
to  provoke  him.  We  sat  looking  at  him  ruefully  whilst 
he  played  some  chords,  which  he  did  as  if  he  hated 
the  piano.  Then  he  said  in  a  weary  voice,  'Go  on,  go 
on.'     I  asked  him  what  we  should  go  on  with.     He 


I20  Love  Among  the  Artists 

looked  savagely  at  me,  and  said,  'Anything.  Don't' — 
He  said  the  rest  to  himself;  but  I  think  he  meant, 
'Don't  sit  there  staring  like  a  fool.'  I  distributed 
some  music  in  a  hurry,  and  put  a  copy  before  him. 
He  was  considerate  enough  not  to  tear  that;  but  he 
took  it  off  the  desk  and  put  it  aside.  Then  we  began, 
he  playing  the  accompaniment  without  book.  Some 
of  the  girls  were  frightened,  others  indignant,  and  the 
rest  whispering  and  laughing;  and,  on  the  whole,  we 
did  not  acquit  ourselves  at  all  well.  He  heard  us  to 
the  end,  and  told  us  to  begin  again.  We  began  again 
and  again  and  again,  he  listening  with  brooding 
desperation,  like  a  man  suffering  from  neuralgia. 
His  silence  alarmed  me  more  than  anything ;  for  he 
usually  shouts  at  us,  and,  if  we  sing  a  wrong  note, 
sings  the  right  one  in  a  tremendous  voice.  This  went 
on  for  about  twenty-five  minutes,  during  which,  I  must 
confess,  we  got  worse  and  worse.  At  last  Mr.  Jack 
rose;  gave  one  terrible  look  at  us;  and  buttoned  his 
coat.  The  eyes  of  all  were  upon  me — as  if  I  could  do 
anything.  'Are  you  going,  Mr.  Jack!'  No  answer. 
'We  shall  see  you  on  Friday  as  usual,  I  suppose,  Mr. 
Jack?'  'Never,  never  again,  by  Heaven!'  With  this 
reply,  made  in  a  tortured  voice  with  intense  fervor,  he 
walked  out.  Then  arose  a  Babel  of  invective  against 
Mr.  Jack,  with  infinite  contradiction,  and  some  vehe- 
ment defence  of  him.  Louisa  White,  torn  quadrille 
in  hand,  began  it  by  declaring  that  his  conduct  was 
disgraceful.  'No  wonder,'  cried  Jane  Lawrence,  'with 
Hetty  Grahame  laughing  openly  at  him  from  the  otto- 
man.'  'It  was  at  the  singing  I  laughed,'  said  Hetty 
indignantly:  'it  was  enough  to  make  anyone  laugh. 
After  this  everybody  spoke  at  once ;  but  at  last  each 
agreed  that  all  the  rest  had  behaved  very  badly,  and 
that  Mr.  Jack  had  been  scandalously  treated.  I 
thought,  and  I  still  think,  that  Mr.  Jack  has  to  thank 
his  own  ill-temper  for  the  bad  singing;  and  I  will  take 
care  that  he  shall  not  have  a  second  chance  of  being 
rude  to  me  (I  know  by  experience  that  it  is  a  mistake 


Love  Among  the  Artists  121 

to  allow  professors  to  trample  on  unprotected  females) 
but  of  course  I  did  not  say  so  to  the  girls,  as  I  do  not 
wish  to  spoil  his  very  unexpected  popularity  with 
them.  He  is  a  true  male  tyrant,  and,  like  all  idle 
women,  they  love  tyrants — for  which  treachery  to 
their  working  sisters  they  ought  to  be  whipped  and 
sent  to  bed.  He  is  now,  forsooth,  to  be  begged  to 
shew  grace  to  his  repentant  handmaids,  and  to  come 
down  as  usual  on  Friday,  magnanimously  overlooking 
his  own  bad  behavior  of  yesterday.  Can  you  manage 
to  bring  this  about.  You  know  him  better  than  any 
of  us;  and  we  regard  you  as  the  proprietress  of  the 
class.  Your  notion  that  Mr.  Jack  objects  to  your  join- 
ing it  when  you  return  to  Windsor,  is  a  piece  of  your 
crotchety  nonsense.  I  asked  him  whether  he  expected 
you  to  do  so,  and  he  said  he  hoped  so.  That  was  not 
yesterday,  of  course,  but  at  the  previous  lesson,  when 
he  was  in  unusually  good  spirits.  So  please  try  and 
induce  his  royal  highness  to  come  back  to  us.  If  you 
do  not,  I  shall  have  to  write  myself,  and  then  all  will 
be  lost;  for  I  will  encourage  no  living  man  to  trample 
on  my  sex,  even  when  they  deserve  it;  and  if  I  must 
write.  Seigneur  Jack  shall  have  a  glimpse  of  my  mind. 
Please  let  me  know  soon  what  you  can  do  for  us:  the 
girls  are  impatient  to  know  the  issue,  and  they  keep 
calling  and  bothering  me  with  questions.  I  will  send 
you  all  the  local  news  in  my  next  letter,  as  it  is  too 
near  post  hour  to  add  anything  to  this, — Yours,  dearest 
Mary,  most  affectionately. 

*'Letitia  Cairns." 

Mary   forthwith,    in   a  glow  of   anger,    wrote  and 
despatched  the  following  to  Church  Street,  Kensington. 

"Bonchurch,  5  th  September. 
"Dear  Mr.  Jack : — I  have  been  very  greatly  surprised 
and  pained  by  hearing  from  my  friend  Miss  Cairns 
that  you  have  abruptly  thrown  up  the  class  she  was 
kind  enough  to  form  for  you  at  Windsor.  I  have  no 
right  to  express  any  opinion  upon  your  determination 


122  Love  Among  the  Artists 

not  to  teach  her  friends  any  more ;  but  as  I  introduced 
you  to  her,  I  cannot  but  feel  that  I  have  been  the 
means  of  exposing  her  to  an  affront  which  has 
evidently  wounded  her  deeply.  However,  Miss 
Cairns,  far  from  making  any  complaint,  is  anxious  that 
you  should  continue  your  lessons,  as  it  is  the  general 
desire  of  the  class  that  you  should  do  so. 

"Yours  sincerely, 

"Mary  Sutherland." 

Early  next  afternoon,  Miss  Cairns  was  alone  in  her 
drawing  room,  preparing  a  lecture  for  a  mutual 
improvement  society  which  she  had  founded  in  Wind- 
sor.    A  servant  came  in. 

"Please,  Miss  Tisha,  can  you  see  Mr.  Jack?" 

Miss  Cairns  laid  down  her  pen,  and  gazed  at  the 
woman.     "Mr.  Jack!     It  is  not  his  usual  day. " 

"No,  Miss;  but  it's  him.  I  said  you  was  busy;  and 
he  asked  whether  you  told  me  to  tell  him  so.  I  think 
he's  in  a  wus  temper  than  last  day." 

"You  had  better  bring  him  up,"  said  Miss  Cairns, 
touching  her  hair  to  test  its  neatness,  and  covering  up 
her  manuscript.  Jack  came  in  hurriedly,  and  cut 
short  her  salutation  by  exclaiming  in  an  agitated 
manner,  "Miss  Cairns:  I  received  a  letter — an 
infamous  letter.  It  says  that  you  accuse  me  of  having 
affronted  you,  and  given  up  my  class  here,  and  other 
monstrous  things.  I  have  come  to  ask  you  whether 
you  really  said  anything  of  the  sort,  and,  if  so,  from 
whom  you  have  heard  these  slanders." 

"I  certainly  never  told  anyone  that  you  affronted 
me,"  said  Miss  Cairns,  turning  pale.  "I  may  have 
said  that  you  gave  up  the  class  rather  abruptly; 
but " 

"But  who  told  you  that  I  had  given  up  the  class? 


Love  Anaong  the  Artists  123 

Why  did  you  believe  it  before  you  had  given  me  an 
opportunity  of  denying — of  repudiating  it.  You  do 
not  know  me,  Miss  Cairns.  I  have  an  unfortunate 
manner  sometimes,  because  I  am,  in  a  worldly  sense, 
an  unfortunate  man,  though  in  my  real  life,  heaven 
knows,  a  most  happy  and  fortunate  one.  But  I  would 
cut  off  my  right  hand  sooner  than  insult  you.  I  am 
incapable  of  ingratitude;  and  I  have  the  truest  esteem 
and  regard  for  you,  not  only  because  you  have  been 
kind  to  me  but  because  I  appreciate  the  noble  qualities 
which  raise  you  above  your  sex.  So  far  from  neglect- 
ing or  wishing  to  abandon  your  friends,  I  have  taken 
special  pains  with  them,  and  shall  always  do  so  on 
your  account,  in  spite  of  their  magpie  frivolity.  You 
have  seen  for  yourself  my  efforts  to  make  them  sing. 
But  it  is  the  accusation  of  rudeness  to  you  personally 
that  I  am  determined  to  refute.  Who  is  the  author  of 
it?" 

"I  assure  you,"  said  Miss  Cairns,  blushing,  "that 
you  did  not  offend  me ;  and  whoever  told  you  I  com- 
plained of  your  doing  so  must  have  misunderstood  me. 
But  as  to  your  giving  up  the  class " 

"Aye,  aye.     Somebody  must  have  told  you  that." 

"You  told  me  that  yourself,  Mr,  Jack." 

He  looked  quickly  at  her,  taken  aback.  Then  he 
frowned  obstinately,  and  began  walking  to  and  fro. 
"Ridiculous!"  he  said,  impatiently.  "I  never  said 
such  a  thing.     You  have  made  a  mistake.  * ' 

"But " 

' '  How  could  I  possibly  have  said  it  when  the  idea 
never  entered  my  head?" 

"All  I  can  say  is,"  said  Miss  Cairns,  firmly,  being 
somewhat  roused,  "that  when  I  asked  you  whether  you 


124  Love  Among  the  Artists 

were  coming  again,  you  answered  most  emphatically, 
'Never!'  " 

Jack  stood  still  and  considered  a  moment,  "No, 
no,"  he  said,  recommencing  his  walk,  "I  said  nothing 
of  the  kind." 

She  made  no  comment,  but  looked  timidly  at  him, 
and  drummed  on  the  writing  desk  with  her  finger. 

"At  least,"  he  said,  stopping  again,  "I  may  have 
said  so  thoughtlessly — as  a  mere  passing  remark.  I 
meant  nothing  by  it.  I  was  a  little  put  out  by  the 
infernal  manner  in  which  the  class  behaved.  Perhaps 
you  did  not  perceive  my  annoyance,  and  so  took  what- 
ever I  said  too  seriously. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  think  that  must  have  been  it,"  said  Miss 
Cairns,  slyly.  "However,  since  it  was  all  a  mistake 
of  mine,  I  suppose  you  will  continue  our  lessons  as  if 
nothing  had  happened." 

"Of  course.      Certainly.     Nothing  has  happened." 

"I  am  so  sorry  that  you  should  have  had  the  trouble 
of  coming  all  the  way  from  London.     It  is  too  bad." 

"Well,  well,  it  is  not  your  fault.  Miss  Cairns.  It 
cannot  be  helped." 

"May  I  ask,  from  whom  did  you  hear  of  my  mistake?" 

"From  whom!  From  Miss  Sutherland,  of  course. 
There  is  no  one  else  living  under  heaven  who  would 
have  the  heart  to  write  such  venom." 

"Miss  Sutherland  is  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  Mr. 
Jack." 

"She  is  no  friend  of  mine.  Though  I  lived  in  her 
house  for  months,  I  never  gave  her  the  least  cause  of 
enmity  against  me.  Yet  she  has  never  lost  an 
opportunity  of  stabbing  at  me." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Jack — won't  you  sit  down: 


Love  Among  the  Artists  125 

I  beg  your  pardon  for  not  asking  you  before — Miss 
Sutherland  has  not  the  least  enmity  to  you." 

"Read  that,"  said  Jack,  producing  the  letter.  Miss 
Cairns  read  it,  and  felt  ashamed  of  it.  "I  cannot 
imagine  what  made  Mary  write  that,"  she  said.  "I 
am  sure  my  letter  contained  nothing  that  could  justify 
her  remark  about  me." 

"Sheer  cruelty — want  of  consideration  for  others — 
natural  love  of  inflicting  pain.  She  has  an  overbearing 
disposition.  Nothing  is  more  hateful  than  an  over- 
bearing disposition." 

"You  do  not  understand  her,  Mr.  Jack.  She  is  only 
hasty.  You  will  find  that  she  wrote  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment,  fancying  that  I  was  annoyed.  Pray  think 
no  more  of  it." 

"It  does  not  matter.  Miss  Cairns.  I  will  not  meet 
her  again;  and  I  request  you  never  to  mention  her 
name  in  my  presence." 

"But  she  is  going,  I  hope,  to  join  the  class  on  her 
return  from  Bonchurch. " 

"The  day  she  enters  it,  I  leave  it.  I  am  in  earnest. 
You  may  move  heaven  and  earth  more  easily  than 
me — on  this  point. ' ' 

"Really,  Mr.  Jack,  you  are  a  little  severe.  Do  not 
be  offended  if  I  say  that  you  might  find  in  your  own 
impatience  some  excuse  for  hers." 

Jack  recoiled.  "My  impatience!"  he  repeated 
slowly.  "I,  who  have  hardened  myself  into  a  stone 
statue  of  dogged  patience,  impatient!"  He  glared  at 
her;  ground  his  teeth;  and  continued  vehemently, 
"Here  am  I,  a  master  of  my  profession — no  easy  one 
to  master — rotting,  and  likely  to  continue  rotting 
unheard  in  the  midst  of  a  pack  of  shallow  panders, 


126  Love  Among  the  Artists 

who  make  a  hotch-potch  of  what  they  can  steal  from 
better  men,  and  share  the  spoil  with  the  corrupt 
performers  who  thrust  it  upon  the  public  for  them. 
Either  this,  or  the  accursed  drudgery  of  teaching,  or 
grinding  an  organ  at  the  pleasure  of  some  canting 
villain  of  a  parson,  or  death  by  starvation,  is  the  lot  of 
a  musician  in  this  country.  I  have,  in  spite  of  this, 
never  composed  one  page  of  music  bad  enough  for 
publication  or  performance.  I  have  drudged  with 
pupils  when  I  could  get  them,  starved  in  a  garret 
when  I  could  not;  endured  to  have  my  works  returned 
to  me  unopened  or  declared  inexecutable  by  shop- 
keepers and  lazy  conductors ;  written  new  ones  without 
any  hope  of  getting  even  a  hearing  for  them;  dragged 
myself  by  excess  of  this  fruitless  labor  out  of  horrible 
fits  of  despair  that  come  out  of  my  own  nature;  and 
throughout  it  all  have  neither  complained  nor  prosti- 
tuted myself  to  write  shopware.  I  have  listened  to 
complacent  assurances  that  publishers  and  concert- 
givers  are  only  too  anxious  to  get  good  original  work 
— that  it  is  their  own  interest  to  do  so.  As  if  the  dogs 
would  know  original  work  if  they  saw  it:  or  rather  as 
if  they  would  not  instinctively  turn  away  from  any- 
thing good  and  genuine!  All  this  I  have  borne  with- 
out suffering  from  it — without  the  humiliation  of 
finding  it  able  to  give  me  one  moment  of  disappoint- 
ment or  resentment ;  and  now  you  tell  me  that  I  have 
no  patience,  because  I  have  no  disposition  to  humor 
the  caprices  of  idle  young  ladies.  I  am  accustomed  to 
hear  such  things  from  fools — or  I  was  when  I  had 
friends;  but  I  expected  more  sense  from  you." 

Miss  Cairns  struggled  with  this  speech  in  vain.     All 
but  the  bare  narrative  in  it  seemed    confused    and 


Love  Among  the  Artists  127 

inconsequent  to  her.  "I  did  not  know,"  she  said, 
looking  perplexedly  at  him.     "It  never  occurred  to  me 

that — at  least "     She  stopped,  unable  to  arrange 

her  ideas.  Then  she  exclaimed,  "And  do  you  really 
love  music,  Mr.  Jack?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  he  sternly. 

"I  thought  you  did  not  care  for  anything.  I  always 
felt  that  you  knew  your  business;  we  all  felt  so;  but 
we  never  thought  you  had  any  enthusiasm.  Do  not 
be  angry  with  me  for  telling  you  so;  for  I  am  very 
glad  to  find  that  I  was  wrong." 

Jack's  feature's  relaxed.  He  rose,  and  took  another 
turn  across  the  room,  chuckling.  "I  am  not  fond  of 
teaching,"  he  said;  "but  I  must  live.  And  so  you  all 
thought  that  an  ugly  man  could  not  be  a  composer. 
Or  was  it  because  I  don't  admire  the  drawling  which 
you  all  flatter  5''ourselves  is  singing,  eh?  I  am  not  like 
the  portraits  of  Mozart,  Miss  Cairns." 

"I  am  sure  we  never  thought  of  that,  only  somehow 
we  agreed  that  you  were  the  very  last  person  in  the 
world  to — to — " 

"Ha!  ha!  Just  so.  I  do  not  look  like  a  writer  of 
serenades.  However,  you  were  right  about  the 
enthusiasm.  I  am  no  enthusiast :  I  leave  that  to  the 
ladies.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  an  enthusiastically 
honest  man,  or  an  enthusiastic  shoemaker?  Never, 
and  you  are  not  likely  to  hear  of  an  enthusiastic  com- 
poser— at  least  not  after  he  is  dead.  No."  He 
chuckled  again,  but  seemed  suddenly  to  recollect  him- 
self; for  he  added  stiffly,  "I  beg  your  pardon.  I  am 
detaining  you." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Miss  Cairns,  so  earnestly 
that    she     blushed     afterwards.     "If     you     are    not 


128  Love  Among  the  Artists 

engaged,  I  wish  you  would  stay  for  a  few  minutes  and 
do  me  a  great  favor. ' ' 

"Certainly.  Most  certainly,"  he  said.  Then  he 
added  suspiciously,  "What  is  it?" 

"Only  to  play  something  for  me  before  you  go — if 
you  don't  mind."  Her  tone  expressed  that  intense 
curiosity  to  witness  a  musical  performance  which  is  so 
common  among  unmusical  people  whose  interest  in 
the  art  has  been  roused  by  reading.  Jack  understood 
it  quite  well;  but  he  seemed  disposed  to  humor  her, 

"You  want  to  see  the  figure  work,"  he  said  good- 
humoredly.     "Very  well.     What  shall  it  be?" 

Miss  Cairns,  ignorant  of  music,  but  unaccustomed 
to  appear  ignorant  of  anything,  was  at  a  loss.  "Some- 
thing classical,  then,"  she  ventured.  "Do  you  know 
Thalberg's  piece  called  'Moses  in  Egypt'?  I  believe 
that  is  very  fine;  but  it  is  also  very  difficult,  is  it 
not?" 

He  started,  and  looked  at  her  with  such  an  extra- 
ordinary grin  that  she  almost  began  to  mistrust  him. 
Then  he  said,  apparently  to  himself,  "Candor,  Jack, 
candor.     You  once  thought  so,  perhaps,  yourself. ' ' 

He  twisted  his  fingers  until  their  joints  crackled; 
shook  his  shoulders;  and  gnashed  his  teeth  once  or 
twice  at  the  keyboard.  Then  he  improvised  a  set  of 
variations  on  the  prayer  from  "Moses"  which  served 
Miss  Cairns's  turn  quite  as  well  as  if  they  had  been 
note  for  note  Thalberg's.  She  listened,  deeply 
impressed,  and  was  rather  jarred  when  he  suddenly 
stopped  and  rose,  saying,  "Well,  well:  enough  tom- 
foolery, Miss  Cairns. " 

"Not  at  all,"  she  said.  "I  have  enjoyed  it  greatly. 
Thank  you  very  much." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  129 

"By  the  bye,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I  am  not  to  be 
asked  to  play  for  your  acquaintances.  Don't  go  and 
talk  about  me :  the  mechanical  toy  will  not  perform 
for  anyone  else." 

"But  is  not  that  a  pity,  when  you  can  give  such 
pleasure?" 

"Whenever  I  am  in  the  humor  to  play,  I  play; 
sometimes  without  being  asked.  But  I  am  not  always 
in  the  humor,  whereas  people  are  always  ready  to 
pretend  that  they  like  listening  to  me,  particularly 
those  who  are  as  deaf  to  music  as  they  are  to  every- 
thing else  that  is  good.  And  one  word  more,  Miss 
Cairns.  If  your  friends  think  me  a  mere  schoolmaster, 
let  them  continue  to  think  so.  I  live  alone,  and  I 
sometimes  talk  more  about  myself  than  I  intend.  I 
did  so  to-day.     Don't  repeat  what  I  said." 

"Certainly  not,  since  you  do  not  wish  me  to." 

Jack  looked  into  his  hat ;  considered  a  moment;  then 
made  her  a  bow — a  ceremony  which  he  always  per- 
formed with  solemnity — and  went  away.  Miss  Cairns 
sat  down  by  herself,  and  forgot  all  about  her  lecture. 
More  accustomed  to  store  her  memory  than  to 
exercise  her  imagination  she  had  a  sensation  of  nov- 
elty in  reflecting  on  the  glimpse  that  she  had  got 
of  Jack's  private  life,  and  the  possibilities  which  it 
suggested.  Her  mother  came  in  presently,  to  inquire 
concerning  the  visitor;  but  Miss  Cairns  merely  told 
who  he  was,  and  mentioned  carelessly  that  the  class 
was  to  go  on  as  before.  Mrs.  Cairns,  who  disapproved 
of  Jack,  said  she  was  sorry  to  hear  it.  Her  daughter, 
desiring  to  give  utterance  to  her  thoughts,  and  not 
caring  to  confide  in  her  mother,  recollected  that  she 
had  to  write  to  Mary.     This  second  letter  ran  thus; 


130  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Newton  Villa,  Windsor. 

"6th  September. 
' '  Dearest  Mary : — I  am  going  to  give  you  a  severe 
scolding  for  what  you  have  done  about  Mr.  Jack.  He 
has  just  been  here  with  your  wicked  letter,  furious, 
and  evidently  not  remembering  a  bit  what  he  said  last 
day.  All  is  settled  about  the  class,  which  he  positively 
denies  having  given  up ;  but  he  is  very  angry  with  you 
— not  without  reason,  I  think.  Why  will  you  be  so 
pugnacious?  I  tried  to  make  your  peace;  but,  for  the 
present  at  least,  he  is  implacable.  He  is  a  very 
strange  man.  I  think  he  is  very  clever;  but  I  do  not 
understand  him,  though  I  have  passed  my  life  among 
professors  and  clever  people  of  all  sorts,  and  fancied  I 
had  exhausted  the  species.  My  logic  and  mathematics 
are  of  no  avail  when  I  try  to  grapple  with  Mr.  Jack: 
he  belongs,  I  think,  to  those  regions  of  art  which  you 
have  often  urged  me  to  explore,  but  of  which, 
unhappily,  I  know  hardly  anything.  I  got  him  into 
a  good  humor  after  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  actually 
asked  him  to  play  for  me;  and  he  did,  most  mag- 
nificently. You  must  never  let  him  know  that  I  told 
you  this,  as  he  made  me  promise  not  to  tell  anyone ; 
and  I  am  sure  he  is  a  terrible  person  to  betra)^  His 
real  character — so  far  as  I  can  make  it  out — is  quite 
different  to  what  we  all  supposed. — I  must  break  off 
here  to  go  to  dinner.  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  relent 
towards  you  after  a  time :  his  wrath  does  not  endure 
for  ever. 

"Ever  your  affectionate, 

"Letitia  Cairns." 

Miss  Cairns  had  no  sooner  sent  this  to  the  post  than 
she  began  to  doubt  whether  it  would  not  have  been 
better  to  have  burnt  it. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

The  autumn  passed ;  and  the  obscure  days  of  the 
London  winter  set  in.  Adrian  Herbert  sat  daily  at 
work  in  his  studio,  painting  a  companion  picture  to 
the  Lady  of  Shalott,  and  taking  less  exercise  than  was 
good  either  for  himself  or  his  work.  His  betrothed 
was  at  Windsor,  studying  Greek  with  Miss  Cairns,  and 
music  with  Jack.  She  had  carried  her  point  with  Mrs. 
Beatty  as  to  the  bandmastership ;  and  Jack  had  been 
invited  to  apply  for  it;  but  he,  on  learning  that  a 
large  part  of  his  duty  would  be  to  provide  the  officers 
of  the  regiment  with  agreeable  music  whilst  they 
dined,  had  unexpectedly  repudiated  the  offer  in  an 
intemperate  letter  to  the  adjutant,  stating  that  he  had 
refused  as  an  organist  to  be  subject  to  the  ministers 
of  religion,  and  that  he  should  refuse,  as  a  conductor, 
to  be  the  hireling  of  professional  homicides.  Miss 
Cairns,  when  she  heard  of  this,  in  the  heat  of  her 
disappointment  reproached  him  for  needlessly  making 
an  enemy  of  the  colonel ;  embittering  the  dislike  of 
Mrs.  Beatty,  and  exposing  Mary  to  their  resentment. 
Jack  thereupon  left  Newton  Villa  in  anger;  but  Miss 
Cairns  learned  next  day  that  he  had  written  a  letter  of 
thanks  to  the  colonel,  in  which  he  mentioned  that  the 
recent  correspondence  with  the  adjutant  had  unfor- 
tunately turned  on  the  dignity  of  the  musical  pro- 
fession, and  begged  that  it  might  be  disassociated 
entirely  from  the  personal  feeling  to  which  he  now 

131 


132  Love  Among  the  Artists 

sought  to  give  expression.  To  Miss  Cairns  herself  he 
also  wrote  briefly  to  say  that  it  had  occurred  to  him 
that  Miss  Sutherland  might  be  willing  to  join  the 
singing  class,  and  that  he  hoped  she  would  be  asked 
to  do  so.  Over  this  double  concession  Miss  Cairns 
exulted;  but  Mary,  humiliated  by  the  failure  of  her 
effort  to  befriend  him,  would  not  join,  and  resisted  all 
persuasion,  until  Jack,  meeting  her  one  day  in  the 
street,  stopped  her;  inquired  after  Charlie;  and  finally 
asked  her  to  come  to  one  of  the  class  meetings.  Glad 
to  have  this  excuse  for  relenting,  she  not  only  entered 
the  class,  but  requested  him  to  assist  her  in  the  study 
of  harmony,  which  she  had  recently  begun  to  teach 
herself  from  a  treatise.  As  it  proved,  however,  he 
confused  rather  than  assisted  her;  for,  though  an 
adept  in  the  use  of  chords,  he  could  make  no  intelli- 
gible attempt  to  name  or  classify  them ;  and  her  exer- 
cises, composed  according  to  the  instructions  given 
in  the  treatise,  exasperated  him  beyond  measure. 

Meanwhile,  Magdalen  Brailsford,  with  many 
impatient  sighs,  was  learning  to  speak  the  English 
language  with  purity  and  distinctness,  and  beginning 
to  look  on  certain  pronunciations  for  which  she  had 
ignorautly  ridiculed  famous  actors,  as  enviable  con- 
ditions of  their  superiority  to  herself.  She  did  not 
enjoy  her  studies;  for  Jack  was  very  exacting;  and 
the  romantic  aspect  of  their  first  meeting  at  Padding- 
ton  was  soon  forgotten  in  the  dread  he  inspired  as  a 
master.  She  left  Church  Street  after  her  first  lesson 
in  a  state  of  exhaustion;  and,  long  after  she  had 
become  accustomed  to  endure  his  criticism  for  an  hour 
without  fatigue,  she  often  could  hardly  restrain  her 
tears  when  he  emphasized   her   defects    by    angrily 


Love  Among  the  Artists  133 

mimicking  them,  which  was  the  most  unpleasant,  but 
not  the  least  effective  part  of  his  system  of  teaching. 
He  was  particular,  even  in  his  cheerful  moods,  and  all 
but  violent  in  his  angry  ones;  but  he  was  indefati- 
gable, and  spared  himself  no  trouble  in  forcing  her 
to  persevere  in  overcoming  the  slovenly  habits  of 
colloquial  speech.  The  further  she  progressed,  the 
less  she  could  satisfy  him.  His  ear  was  far  more  acute 
than  hers;  and  he  demanded  from  her  beauties  of 
tone  of  which  she  had  no  conception,  and  refinements 
of  utterance  which  she  could  not  distinguish.  He 
repeated  sounds  which  he  declared  were  as  distinct 
as  day  from  night,  and  raged  at  her  because  she  could 
hear  no  difference  between  them.  He  insisted  that 
she  was  grinding  her  voice  to  pieces  when  she  was 
hardly  daring  to  make  it  audible.  Often,  when  she 
was  longing  for  the  expiry  of  the  hour  to  release  her, 
he  kept  her  until  Mrs.  Simpson,  who  was  always 
present,  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  interfered  in 
spite  of  the  frantic  abuse  to  which  a  word  from  her 
during  the  lesson  invariably  provoked  him.  Magdalen 
would  have  given  up  her  project  altogether,  for  the 
sake  of  escaping  the  burden  of  his  tuition,  but  for 
her  fear  of  the  contempt  she  knew  he  would  feel  for 
her  if  she  proved  recreant.  So  she  toiled  on  without 
a  word  of  encouragement  or  approval  from  him;  and 
he  grimly  and  doggedly  kept  her  at  it,  until  one  day, 
near  Christmas,  she  came  to  Church  Street  earlier 
than  usual,  and  had  a  long  conference  with  Mrs. 
Simpson  before  he  was  informed  of  her  presence. 
When  he  came  down  from  his  garret  she  screwed  her 
courage  up  to  desperation  point,  and  informed  him 
that  she  had  obtained  an  engagement  for  a  small  part 


134  Love  Among  the  Artists 

in  the  opening  of  a  pantomime  at  Nottingham. 
Instead  of  exploding  fiercely,  he  stared  a  little ;  rubbed 
his  head  perplexedly;  and  then  said,  "Well,  well: 
you  must  begin  somehow:  the  sooner  the  better. 
You  will  have  to  do  poor  work,  in  poor  company,  for 
some  time,  perhaps ;  but  you  must  believe  in  yourself, 
and  not  flinch  from  the  drudgery  of  the  first  year  or 
two.  Keep  the  fire  always  alight  on  the  altar,  and 
every  place  you  go  into  will  become  a  temple.  Don't 
be  mean:  no  grabbing  at  money,  or  opportunities,  or 
effects!  You  can  speak  already  better  than  ninety- 
nine  out  of  a  hundred  of  them :  remember  that.  If 
you  ever  want  to  do  as  they  do,  then  your  ear  will  be 
going  wrong;  and  that  will  be  a  sign  that  your  soul 
is  going  wrong  too.     Do  you  believe  me,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Madge,  dutifully. 

He  looked  at  her  very  suspiciously,  and  uttered  a  sort 
of  growl,  adding,  "If  you  get  hissed  occasionally,  it  will 
do  you  good;  although  you  are  more  likely  to  get 
applauded  and  spoilt.  Don't  forget  what  I  have 
taught  you :  you  will  see  the  use  of  it  when  you  have 
begun  to  understand  your  profession. ' ' 

Magdalen  protested  that  she  should  never  forget, 
and  tried  to  express  her  gratitude  for  the  trouble  he 
had  taken  with  her.  She  begged  that  he  would  not 
reveal  her  destination  to  anyone,  as  it  was  necessary 
for  her  to  evade  her  family  a  second  time  in  order  to 
fulfil  her  engagement.  He  replied  that  her  private 
arrangements  were  no  business  of  his,  advising  her  at 
the  same  time  to  reflect  before  she  quitted  a  luxurious 
home  for  a  precarious  and  vagabond  career,  and  recom- 
mending Mrs.  Simpson  to  her  as  an  old  hag  whose 
assistance  would  be  useful  in  any  business  that  required 


Love  Among  the  Artists  135 

secrecy  and  lying.  "If  you  want  my  help,"  he  added, 
"you  can  come  and  ask  for  it." 

"She  can  come  and  pay  for  it,  and  no  thanks  to 
you,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  goaded  beyond  endurance. 

Jack  turned  on  her,  purple  and  glaring.  Madge 
threw  herself  between  them.  Then  he  suddenly 
walked  out;  and,  as  they  stood  there  trembling  and 
looking  at  one  another  in  silence,  they  heard  him  go 
upstairs  to  his  garret. 

"Oh,  Polly,  how  could  you?"  said  Madge  at  last, 
almost  in  a  whisper. 

"I  wonder  what  he's  gone  for,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson. 
"There's  nothing  upstairs  that  he  can  do  any  harm 
with.     I  didn't  mean  anything." 

He  came  down  presently,  with  an  old  wash-leather- 
purse  in  his  hand.  "Here,"  he  said  to  Madge.  They 
knew  perfectly  well,  without  further  explanation,  that 
it  was  the  money  she  had  paid  him  for  her  lessons. 

"Mr.  Jack,"  she  stammered:  "I  cannot." 

"Come,  take  it,"  he  said.  "She  is  right:  the  people 
at  Windsor  pay  for  my  wants.  I  have  no  need  to  be 
supported  twice  over.  Has  she  charged  you  anything 
for  the  room?" 

"No,"  said  Madge. 

"Then  the  more  shame  for  me  to  charge  you  for 
your  lessons,"  said  Jack.  "I  shall  know  better 
another  time.  Here:  take  the  money,  and  let  us 
think  no  more  about  it.  Goodbye!  I  think  I  can 
work  a  little  now,  if  I  set  about  it  at  once."  He  gave 
her  the  purse,  which  she  did  not  dare  refuse;  shook 
her  hand  with  both  his ;  and  went  out  hurriedly,  but 
humbly. 

Three  days  after  this,  Adrian  Herbert  was  disturbed 


136  Love  Among  the  Artists 

at  his  easel  by  Mr.  Brailsford,  who  entered  the  studio 
in  an  extraordinarily  excited  condition. 

"Mr.  Brailsford!     I  am  very  glad  to What  is 

the  matter?" 

"Do  you  know  anything  of  Magdalen?  She  is 
missing  again."  Herbert  assumed  an  air  of  concern. 
"Herbert:  I  appeal  to  you,  if  she  has  confided  her 
plans  to  you,  not  to  ruin  her  by  a  misplaced  respect  for 
her  foolish  secrets. ' ' 

"I  assure  you  I  am  as  much  surprised  as  you.  Why 
should  you  suppose  that  I  am  in  her  confidence?" 

"You  were  much  in  her  company  during  your  recent 
visits  to  us;  and  you  are  the  sort  of  a  man  a  young 
girl  would  confide  any  crazy  project  to.  You  and  she 
have  talked  together  a  good  deal. " 

"Well,  we  have  had  two  conversations  within  the 
last  six  weeks,  both  of  which  came  about  by  accident. 
We  were  speaking  of  my  affairs  only.  You  know 
Miss  Sutherland  is  a  friend  of  hers.  She  is  our  lead- 
ing topic." 

"Thisis  very  disappointing,  Herbert.  Confoundedly 
so." 

'*It  is  unfortunate;  and  I  am  sorry  I  know  nothing." 

*'Yes,  yes:  I  knew  you  were  not  likely  to:  it  was 
mere  clutching  at  a  straw.  Herbert:  when  I  get  that 
girl  back,  I'll  lock  her  up,  and  not  let  her  out  of  her 
room  until  she  leaves  it  to  be  married. ' ' 

"When  did  she  go?" 

"Last  night.  We  did  not  miss  her  until  this  morn- 
ing. She  has  gone  to  disgrace  herself  a  second  time 
at  some  blackguard  country  theatre  or  other.  And 
yet  she  has  always  been  treated  with  the  greatest 
indulgence  at  home.     She  is  not  like  other  girls  who 


Love  Among  the  Artists  137 

do  not  know  the  value  of  a  comfortahle  home  In 
the  days  when  I  fought  the  world  as  a  man  of  letters, 
she  had  opportunities  of  learning  the  value  of  money." 
Mr.  Brailsford,  as  he  spoke,  moved  about  constantly; 
pulled  at  his  collar  as  if  it  were  a  stock  which  needed 
to  be  straightened;  and  fidgeted  with  his  gloves.  **I 
am  powerless,"  he  added.  "I  cannot  obtain  the 
slightest  clue.  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  sit  down 
and  let  my  child  go." 

"Are  you  aware,"  said  Herbert  thoughtfully,  "that 
she  has  been  taking  lessons  in  acting  from  a  professor 
of  music  during  the  last  few  months?" 

"No,  sir,  I  certainly  am  not  aware  of  it,"  said 
Brailsford  fiercely.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear 
Herbert;  but  she  is  a  damned  ungrateful  girl;  and 
her  loss  is  a  great  trouble  to  me.  I  did  not  know; 
and  she  could  not  have  done  it  if  her  mother  had 
looked  after  her  properly. ' ' 

"It  is  certainly  the  case.  I  was  very  much  surprised 
myself  when  Miss  Sutherland  told  me  of  it,  especially 
as  I  happened  to  have  some  knowledge  of  the  person 
whom  Miss  Brailsford  employed." 

"Perhaps  he  knows.  Who  is  he  and  where  is  he  to 
be  found?" 

"His  name  is  an  odd  one — Jack." 

"Jack?  I  have  heard  that  name  somewhere.  Jack? 
My  memory  is  a  wreck.  But  we  are  losing  time.  You 
know  his  address,  I  hope." 

"I  believe  I  have  it  here  among  some  old  letters. 
Excuse  me  whilst  I  search." 

Herbert  went  into  the  ante-room.  Mr.  Brailsford 
continued  his  nervous  movements;  bit  his  nails;  and 
made  a  dab  at  the  picture  with  his  glove,  smudging  it. 


138  Love  Among  the  Artists 

The  discovery  that  he  had  wantonly  done  mischief 
sobered  him  a  little;  and  presently  Adrian  returned 
with  one  of  Jack's  letters. 

"Church  Street,  Kensington,"  he  said.  "Will  you 
go  there?" 

"Instantly,  Herbert,  instantly.     Will  you  come?" 

"If  you  wish,"  said  Adrian,  hesitating. 

"Certainly.  You  must  come.  This  is  some  low 
villain  who  has  pocketed  the  child's  money,  and 
persuaded  her  that  she  is  a  Mrs.  Siddons.  I  had 
lessons  myself  long  ago  from  the  great  Young,  who 
thought  highly  of  me,  though  not  more  so  than  I  did 
of  him.  Perhaps  I  am  dragging  you  away  from  your 
work,  my  dear  fellow." 

"It  is  too  dark  to  work  much  to-day.  In  any  case 
the  matter  is  too  serious  to  be  sacrificed  to  my 
routine. ' ' 

Quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Mrs.  Simpson's  maid 
knocked  at  the  door  of  Jack's  garret,  and  informed 
him  that  two  gentlemen  were  waiting  in  the  drawing- 
room  to  see  him. 

"What  are  they  like?"  said  Jack.  "Are  you  sure 
they  want  me?" 

"Certain  sure,"  said  the  girl.  "One  of  'em's  a  nice 
young  gentleman  with  a  flaxy  beard ;  and  the  other  is 
his  father,  I  think.     Ain't  he  a  dapper  old  toff,  too!" 

' '  Give  me  my  boots ;  and  tell  them  I  shall  be  down 
presently." 

The  maid  then  appeared  to  Mr.  Brailsford  and 
Adrian,  saying,  "Mr.  Jax'll  be  down  in  a  minnit,"  and 
vanished.  Soon  after,  Jack  came  in.  In  an  instant 
Mr.  Brailsford 's  eyes  lit  up  as  if  he  saw  through  the 
whole  plot;  and   he  rose  threateningly.      Jack  bade 


Love  Among  the  Artists  139 

good  morning  ceremoniously  to  Herbert,  who  was 
observing  with  alarm  the  movements  of  his  com- 
panion. 

"You  know  me,  I  think,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brailsford, 
threateningly. 

"I  remember  you  very  well,"  replied  Jack  grimly. 
"Be  pleased  to  sit  down." 

Herbert  hastily  offered  Mr.  Brailsford  a  chair, 
pushing  it  against  his  calves  just  in  time  to  interrupt 
an  angry  speech  at  the  beginning.  The  three  sat 
down. 

"We  have  called  on  you,  Mr.  Jack,"  said  Adrian, 
"in  the  hope  that  you  can  throw  some  light  on  a  matter 
which  is  a  source  of  great  anxiety  to  Mr,  Brailsford. 
Miss  Brailsford  has  disappeared ' ' 

"What!"  cried  Jack.  "Run  away  again.  Ha!  ha! 
I  expected  as  much. ' ' 

"Pray  be  calm,"  said  Herbert,  as  Mr.  Brailsford 
made  a  frantic  gesture.  "Allow  me  to  speak.  Mr. 
Jack :  I  believe  you  have  lately  been  in  communication 
with  the  young  lady. ' ' 

"I  have  been  teaching  her  for  the  last  four  months, 
if  that  is  what  you  mean. " 

' '  Pray  understand  that  we  attach  no  blame  to  you 
in  the  matter.  We  merely  wish  to  ascertain  the 
whereabouts  of  Miss  Brailsford:  and  we  thought  you 
might  be  able  to  assist  us.  If  so,  I  feel  sure  you  will 
not  hesitate  to  give  this  gentleman  all  the  information 
in  your  power." 

"You  may  reassure  yourself,"  said  Jack.  "  She  has 
got  an  engagement  at  some  theatre  and  has  gone  to 
fulfil  it.  She  told  me  so  a  few  days  ago,  when  she 
came  to  break  off  her  lessons. ' ' 


140  Love  Among  the  Artists 

**We  particularly  wish  to  find  out  where  she  has 
gone  to,"  said  Herbert  slowly. 

"You  must  find  that  out  as  best  you  can,"  said  Jack, 
looking  attentively  at  him,  "She  mentioned  the  place 
to  me ;  but  she  asked  me  not  to  repeat  it,  and  it  is  not 
my  business  to  do  so." 

"Herbert,"  cried  Mr.  Brailsford,  "Herbert." 

"Pray!"  remonstrated  Adrian.  "Just  allow  me 
one  word " 

"Herbert,"  persisted  the  other:  "this  is  the  fellow 
of  whom  I  told  you  as  we  came  along  in  the  cab.  He 
is  her  accomplice.  You  know  you  are,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  Jack,  and  raising  his  voice.  "Do  you  still 
deny  that  you  are  her  agent?" 

Jack  stared  at  him  imperturbably. 

"It  is  a  conspiracy,"  said  Mr.  Brailsford.  "It,  has 
been  a  conspiracy  from  the  first;  and  you  are  the 
prime  mover  in  it.  You  shall  not  bully  me,  sir.  I 
will  make  you  speak." 

"There,  there,"  said  Jack.  "Take  him  away,  Mr. 
Herbert." 

Adrian  stepped  hastily  between  them,  fearing  that 
his  companion  would  proceed  to  violence.  Before 
another  word  could  be  spoken  the  door  was  opened  by 
Mrs.  Simpson,  who  started  and  stopped  short  when 
she  saw  visitors  in  the  room. 

"I  beg  pardon Why,  it's  Mr.  Brailsford,"  she 

added,  reddening.  "I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir,"  she 
continued,  advancing  with  a  propitiatory  air.  "I  am 
honored  by  having  you  in  my  house." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  look  which 
made  her  tremble.  "So  it  is  you  who  introduced  Miss 
Magdalen  to  this  man.     Herbert,   my  dear  boy,   the 


Love  Among  the  Artists  141 

thing  is  transparent.  This  woman  is  an  old  retainer 
of  ours.  It  was  her  sister  who  took  Madge  away 
before.     I  told  you  it  was  all  a  conspiracy." 

"Lord  bless  us!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Simpson.  '*I  hope 
nothing  ain't  happened  to  Miss  Magdalen." 

"If  anything  has,  you  shall  be  held  responsible  for 
it.     Where  has  she  gone?" 

"Oh,  don't  go  to  tell  me  that  my  sweet  Miss 
Magdalen  has  gone  away  again,  sir!" 

"You  hear  how  they  contradict  one  another, 
Herbert?" 

Mrs.  Simpson  looked  mistrustfully  at  Jack,  who  was 
grinning  at  her  with  cynical  admiration,  "I  don't 
know  what  Mr.  Jack  may  have  put  into  your  head 
about  me,  sir,"  she  said  cautiously;  "but  I  assure  you 
I  know  nothing  of  poor  Miss  Magdalen's  doings.  I 
haven't  seen  her  this  past  month." 

"You  understand,  of  course,"  remarked  Jack,  "that 
that  is  not  true.  Mrs.  Simpson  has  always  been 
present  at  your  daughter's  lessons.  She  knows  per- 
fectly well  that  Miss  Brailsford  has  gone  to  play  at 
some  theatre.     She  heard  it  in " 

"I  wish  you'd  mind  your  own  business,  Mr.  Jack," 
said  the  landlady,  sharply. 

"When  lies  are  needed  to  serve  Miss  Brailsford,  you 
can  speak,"  retorted  Jack.  "Until  then,  hold  your 
tongue.  It  is  clear  to  me,  Mr.  Herbert,  that  you  want 
this  unfortunate  young  lady's  address  for  the  purpose 
of  attempting  to  drag  her  back  from  an  honorable 
profession  to  a  foolish  and  useless  existence  which  she 
hates.  Therefore  I  shall  give  you  no  information.  If 
she  is  unhappy  or  unsuccessful  in  her  new  career,  she 
will  return  of  her  own  accord. ' ' 


142  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"I  fear,"  said  Herbert,  embarrassed  by  the  presence 
of  Mrs.  Simpson,  "that  we  can  do  no  good  by  remain- 
ing here." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Mr.  Brailsford.  "I  decline  to 
address  myself  further  to  either  of  you.  Other  steps 
shall  be  taken.  And  j'ou  shall  repent  the  part  you 
have  played  on  this  occasion,  Mrs.  Simpson.  As  for 
you,  sir,  I  can  only  say  I  trust  this  will  prove  our  last 
meeting." 

"I  shan't  repent  nothink,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson. 
"Why  shouldn't  I  assist  the  pretty " 

"Come!"  said  Jack,  interrupting  her,  "we  have  said 
enough.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Herbert."  Adrian 
colored,  and  moved  towards  the  door.  "You  shall 
be  welcome  whenever  you  wish  to  see  me,"  added 
Jack;  "but  at  present  you  had  better  take  this  gentle- 
man away."  Herbert  bowed  slightly,  and  went  out, 
annoyed  by  the  abrupt  dismissal,  and  even  more  by 
the  attempt  to  soften  it,  Mr.  Brailsford  walked  stiffly 
after  him,  staring  indignantly  at  Mrs.  Simpson  and 
her  lodger.  Provoked  to  mirth  by  this  demonstration. 
Jack,  who  had  hitherto  behaved  with  dignity,  rubbed 
his  nose  with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  grinned 
hideously  through  his  fingers  at  his  visitor. 

"As  I  told  you  before,"  said  Mr.  Brailsford,  turning 
as  he  reached  the  threshold,  "you  are  a  vile  kid- 
napper ;  and  I  will  see  that  your  trade  is  exposed  and 
put  a  stop  to." 

"As  I  told  you  before,"  said  Jack,  removing  his 
hand  from  his  nose,  "you  are  an  old  fool;  and  I  wish 
you  good  afternoon." 

"Sh — sh,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  as  Mr.  Brailsford, 
with    a    menacing   wave   of    his  glove,   disappeared. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  143 

"You  didn't  ought  to  speak  like  that  to  an  old  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Jack." 

"His  age  gives  him  no  right  to  be  ill-tempered  and 
abusive  to  me,"  said  Jack  angrily. 

"Humph!"  retorted  the  landlady.  "Your  own 
tongue  and  temper  are  none  of  the  sweetest.  If  I  was 
you,  I  wouldn't  be  so  much  took  aback  at  seeing 
others  do  the  same  as  myself." 

"Indeed.  And  how  do  you  think  being  me  would 
feel  like,  Mrs.  Deceit?" 

"I  wouldn't  make  out  other  people  to  be  liars  before 
their  faces,  at  all  events,  Mr.  Jack," 

"You  would  prefer  the  truth  to  be  told  of  you 
behind  your  back,  perhaps.  I  sometimes  wonder  what 
part  of  my  music  will  show  the  influence  of  your 
society  upon  me.     My  Giulietta  Guicciardi!" 

"Give  me  no  more  of  your  names,"  said  Mrs.  Simp- 
son, shortly,  "I  don't  need  them." 

Jack  left  the  room  slowly  as  if  he  had  forgotten  her. 
Meanwhile  Mr.  Brailsford  was  denouncing  him  to 
Herbert.  "From  the  moment  I  first  saw  him,"  he 
said,  "I  felt  an  instinctive  antipathy  to  him.  I  have 
never  seen  a  worse  face,  or  met  with  a  worse  nature." 

"I  certainly  do  not  like  him,"  said  Herbert.  "He 
has  taken  up  an  art  as  a  trade,  and  knows  nothing  of 
the  trials  of  a  true  artist's  career.  No  doubts  of  him- 
self; no  aspirations  to  suggest  them;  nothing  but  a 
stubborn  narrow  self-sufficiency.     I  half  envy  him. " 

"The  puppy!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brailsford,  not  attend- 
ing to  Adrian:  "to  dare  insult  me!  He  shall  suffer 
for  it.  I  have  put  a  bullet  into  a  fellow — into  a 
gentleman  of  good  position — for  less.  And  Magdalen 
— my    daughter — is    intimate    with   him — has  visited 


144  Love  Among  the  Artists 

him.  Girls  are  going  to  the  devil  of  late  years, 
Herbert,  going  to  the  very  devil.  She  shall  not  give 
me  the  slip  again,  when  I  catch  her." 

Mr.  Brailsford,  however,  did  not  catch  Magdalen. 
Her  good  looks,  and  her  clear  delivery  of  the  doggerel 
verses  allotted  to  her  in  the  pantomime,  gained  the 
favor  of  the  Nottingham  playgoers.  Their  applause 
prevented  her  from  growing  weary  of  repeating  her 
worthless  part  nightl)'-  for  six  weeks,  and  compensated 
her  for  the  discomfort  and  humiliation  of  living  among 
people  whom  she  could  not  help  regarding  as  her 
inferiors,  and  with  whom  she  had  to  co-operate  in 
entertaining  vulgar  people  with  vulgar  pleasantries, 
fascinating  them  by  a  display  of  the  comeliness,  not 
only  of  her  face,  but  of  more  of  her  person  than  she 
had  been  expected  to  shew  at  Kensington  Palace 
Gardens.  Her  costume  almost  shocked  her  at  first; 
but  she  made  up  her  mind  to  accept  it  without  demur, 
partly  because  wearing  such  things  was  plainly  part  of 
an  actress's  business,  and  partly  because  she  felt  that 
any  objection  on  her  part  would  imply  an  immodest 
self-consciousness.  Besides,  she  had  no  moral  convic- 
tion that  it  was  wrong,  whereas  she  had  no  doubt  at  all 
that  petticoats  were  a  nuisance.  She  could  not  bring 
herself  to  accept  with  equal  frankness  the  society 
which  the  pantomime  company  offered  to  her.  Miss 
Lafitte,  the  chief  performer,  was  a  favorite  with  the 
public  on  account  of  her  vivacity,  her  skill  in  clog- 
dancing,  and  her  command  of  slang,  which  she  uttered 
in  a  piercing  voice  with  a  racy  Whitechapel  accent. 
She  took  a  fancy  to  Magdalen,  who  at  first  recoiled. 
But  Miss  Lafitte  (in  real  life  Mrs.  Cohen)  was  so 
accustomed    to    live    down    aversion,    that   she    only 


Love  Among  the  Artists  145 

regarded  it  as  a  sort  of  shyness — as  indeed  it  was. 
She  was  vigorous,  loud  spoken,  always  full  of  animal 
spirits,  and  too  well  appreciated  by  her  audiences  to  be 
jealous.  Magdalen,  who  had  been  made  miserable  at 
first  by  the  special  favor  of  permission  to  share  the 
best  dressing-room  with  her,  soon  found  the  advantage 
of  having  a  good-natured  and  powerful  companion. 
The  drunken  old  woman  who  was  attached  to  the 
theatre  as  dresser,  needed  to  be  kept  efficient  by  sharp 
abuse  and  systematic  bullying,  neither  of  which  Mag- 
dalen could  have  administered  effectually.  Miss 
Lafitte  bullied  her  to  perfection.  Occasionally  some 
of  the  actors  would  stroll  into  the  dressing  room, 
evidently  without  the  least  suspicion  that  Magdalen 
might  prefer  to  put  on  her  shoes,  rouge  herself,  and 
dress  her  hair  in  private.  Miss  Lafitte,  who  had  never 
objected  to  their  presence  on  her  own  account,  now 
bade  them  begone  whenever  they  appeared,  at  which 
they  seemed  astonished,  but  having  no  intention  of 
being  intrusive,  retired  submissively, 

"You  make  yourself  easy,  deah,"  she  said  to  Mag- 
dalen. "Awe-y-'ll  take  kee-yerr  of  you.  Lor'  bless 
you,  awe-y  know  wot  you  are.  You're  a  law'ydy. 
But  you'll  get  used  to  them.    They  don't  mean  no  'arm. 

Magdalen,  wondering  what  Jack  would  have  said  to 
Miss  Lafitte's  vowels,  disclaimed  all  pretension  to  be 
more  of  a  lady  than  those  with  whom  she  worked ;  but 
Miss  Lafitte,  though,  she  patted  the  young  novice  on 
the  back,  and  soothingly  assented,  nevertheless  con- 
tinued to  make  a  difference  between  her  own  behavior 
in  Magdalen's  presence,  and  the  coarse  chaff  and 
reckless  flirtation  in  which  she  indulged  freely  else- 
where.    On  boxing  night,  when  Madge  was  nerving 


146  Love  Among  the  Artists 

herself  to  face  the  riotous  audience,  Miss  Lafitte  told 
her  that  she  looked  beautiful ;  exhorted  her  cheerfully 
to  keep  up  her  pecker  and  never  say  die ;  and,  ridicul- 
ing her  fear  of  putting  too  much  paint  on  her  face, 
plastered  her  cheeks  and  blackened  the  margins  of  her 
eyes  until  she  blushed  though  the  mask  of  pigment. 
When  the  call  came,  she  went  with  her  to  the  wing; 
pushed  her  on  to  the  scene  at  the  right  instant;  and 
praised  her  enthusiastically  when  she  returned. 
Madge,  who  hardly  knew  what  had  passed  on  the 
stage,  was  grateful  for  these  compliments,  and  tried  to 
return  them  when  Miss  Lafitte  came  to  the  dressing 
room,  flushed  with  the  exertion  of  singing  a  topical 
song  with  seven  encore  verses,  and  dancing  a  break- 
down between  each. 

"I'm  used  to  it,"  said  Miss  Lafitte.  "It's  my 
knowledge  of  music-hall  business  that  makes  me  what 
I  am.  You  wouldn't  catch  me  on  the  stage  at  all, 
only  that  my  husband's  a  bit  of  a  swell  in  his  own  way 
— he'll  like  you  for  that — and  he  thinks  the  theatre 
more  respectable.  It  don't  pay  as  well,  I  can  tell  you; 
but  of  course  it's  surer  and  lasts  longer. " 

"Were  you  nervous  at  your  first  appearance?"  said 
Madge. 

"Oh,  wawn't  I  though!  Just  a  little  few.  I  cried 
at  havin'  to  go  on.  I  wasn't  cold  and  plucky  like 
you ;  but  I  got  over  it  sooner.  I  know  your  sort :  you 
will  be  nervous  all  your  life.  I  don't  care  twopence 
for  any  audience  now,  nor  ever  did  after  my  second 
night." 

"I  may  have  looked  cold  and  plucky,"  said  Madge, 
surprised.  "I  never  felt  more  miserable  in  my  life 
before." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  147 

**Yes.  Ain't  it  awful?  Did  you  hear  Lefanu? — 
stuck  up  little  minx!  Her  song  will  be  cut  out  to- 
morrow. She's  a  reg'lar  duffer,  she  is.  She  gives 
herself  plenty  of  airs,  and  tells  the  people  that  she 
was  never  used  to  associate  with  us.  I  know  who  she 
is  well  enough:  her  father  was  an  apothecary  in 
Bayswater.  She's  only  fit  to  be  a  governess.  You're 
worth  fifty  of  her,  either  on  the  boards  or  off," 

Madge  did  not  reply.  She  was  conscious  of  having 
contemplated  escape  from  Miss  Lafitte  by  attaching 
herself  to  Miss  Lefanu,  who  was  a  ladylike  young 
woman. 

"She  looks  like  a  print  gown  after  five  washings," 
continued  Miss  Lafitte;  "and  she  don't  know  how  to 
speak.  Now  you  speak  lovely — almost  as  well  as  me, 
if  you'd  spit  it  out  a  bit  more.     Who  taught  you?" 

When  the  pantomime  had  been  played  for  a  fort- 
night, Madge  found  herself  contemptuously  indifferent 
to  Miss  Lefanu,  and  fond  of  Miss  Lafitte.  When 
the  latter  invited  her  to  a  supper  at  her  house,  she 
could  not  refuse,  though  she  accepted  with  misgiving. 
It  proved  a  jovial  entertainment — almost  an  orgie. 
Some  of  the  women  drank  much  champagne ;  spoke  at 
the  top  of  their  voices;  and  screamed  when  they 
laughed.  The  men  paid  court  to  them  with  facetious 
compliments,  and  retorted  their  raillery  with  broad 
sarcasms.  Madge  got  on  best  with  the  younger  and 
less  competent  actors,  who  were  mostly  unpropertied 
gentlemen,  with  a  feeble  amateur  bent  for  singing 
and  acting,  who  had  contrived  to  get  on  the  stage,  not 
because  they  were  fit  for  it.  but  because  society  had 
not  fitted  them  for  anything  else.  They  talked 
theatrical  shop  and  green  room  scandal  in  addition  to 


148  Love  Among  the  Artists 

the  usual  topics  of  young  gentlemen  at  dances ;  and  they 
shielded  Magdalen  efficiently  from  the  freer  spirits. 
Sometimes  an  unusually  coarse  sally  would  reach  her 
ears,  and  bring  upon  her  a  sense  of  disgust  and 
humiliation;  but,  though  she  resolved  to  attend  no 
more  suppers,  she  was  able  next  day  to  assure  her 
hostess  with  perfect  sincerity  that  she  was  none  the 
worse  for  her  evening's  experience,  and  that  she  had 
never  enjoyed  herself  as  much  at  any  Kensington 
supper  party.  Miss  Lafitte  thereupon  embraced  her, 
and  told  her  that  she  had  been  the  belle  of  the  ball, 
and  that  Laddie  (a  Gentile  abbreviation  of  Lazarus, 
her  husband's  name)  had  recognized  her  as  a  real 
lady,  and  was  greatly  pleased  with  her.  Then  she 
asked  her  whether  she  did  not  think  Laddie  a  hand- 
some man.  Madge,  to  gratify  her,  replied  that  she  had 
been  struck  by  his  dark  hair  and  eyes,  and  that  his 
manners  were  elegant.  "There  is  one  thing,"  she 
added,  "that  puzzles  we  a  little.  I  always  call  you 
Miss  Lafitte  here ;  but  should  I  not  call  you  by  your 
real  name  at  your  house?  I  don't  know  the  etiquette, 
you  see. ' ' 

"Call  me  Sal,"  said  Mrs.  Cohen,  kissing  her. 

When  the  pantomime  was  over,  and  the  company 
dispersed,  the  only  member  of  it  whose  departure  she 
felt  as  a  loss  was  Miss  Lafitte;  and  she  never  after- 
wards fell  into  the  mistake  of  confounding  incorrigible 
rowdyism  and  a  Whitechapel  accent  with  true  unfit- 
ness for  society.  By  her  advice,  Madge  accepted  an 
engagement  as  one  of  the  stock  company  of  the  Not- 
tingham theatre  at  the  salary — liberal  for  a  novice — of 
two  pounds  per  week.  For  this  she  did  some  hard 
work.     Every  night  she  had  to  act  in  a  farce,  and  in  a 


Love  Among  the  Artists  149 

comedy  which  had  become  famous  in  London.  In  it, 
as  in  the  pantomime,  she  had  to  play  the  same  part 
nightly  for  two  weeks.  Then  came  three  weeks  of 
Shakspere  and  the  legitimate  drama,  in  which  she  and 
the  rest  of  the  company  had  to  support  an  eminent 
tragedian,  a  violent  and  exacting  man,  who  expected 
them  to  be  perfect  in  long  parts  at  a  day's  notice. 
When  they  disappointed  him,  as  was  usually  the  case, 
he  kept  them  rehearsing  from  the  forenoon  to  the  hour 
of  performance  with  hardly  sufficient  interval  to  allow 
of  their  dining.  The  stage  manager,  the  musicians, 
the  scene-painters  and  carpenters  even,  muttered 
sulkily  that  it  was  impossible  to  please  him.  He  did 
not  require  the  actors  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  their 
lines — it  was  supposed  that  he  was  jealous  of  their 
attempts  at  acting,  which  were  certainly  not  always 
helpful — but  he  was  inflexible  in  his  determination  to 
have  them  letter-perfect  and  punctual  in  the  move- 
ments and  positions  he  dictated  to  them.  His  dis- 
pleasure was  vented  either  in  sarcasms  or  oaths;  and 
often  Madge,  though  nerved  by  intense  indignation, 
could  hardly  refrain  from  weeping  like  many  other 
members  of  the  compan)%  both  male  and  female,  from 
fatigue  and  mortification.  She  worked  hard  at  her 
parts,  which  were  fortunately  not  long  ones,  in  order 
to  escape  the  humiliation  of  being  rebuked  by  him. 
Yet  once  or  twice  he  excited  her  fear  and  hatred  to 
such  a  degree  that  she  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the 
theatre,  and  abandoning  her  profession.  It  was  far 
worse  than  what  Jack  had  made  her  endure ;  for  her 
submission  to  him  had  been  voluntary;  whilst  with 
the  tragedian  she  could  not  help  herself,  being  paid  to 
assist  him,  and  ignorant  of  how  to  do  it  properly. 


150  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Towards  the  end  of  the  second  week  her  business 
became  easier  by  repetition.  She  appeared  as  the 
player  queen  in  Hamlet,  the  lady-in-waiting  in 
Macbeth,  and  the  widow  of  King  Edward  IV.,  and 
began  to  feel  for  the  first  time  a  certain  respect  for  the 
silently  listening,  earnest  audiences  that  crowded  the 
house.  It  was  the  first  dim  stirring  in  her  of  a  sense 
that  her  relation  as  an  actress  to  the  people  was  above 
all  her  other  relations.  If  the  tragedian  had  felt  this 
as  between  the  audience  and  the  company  of  which 
he  was  but  a  pai-t,  he  might  have  inspired  them  to 
work  all  together  with  a  will  to  realize  the  plays  to  the 
people.  But  he  was  a  "star,"  recognizing  no  part 
and  no  influence  but  his  own.  She  and  her  colleagues 
were  dwarfed  and  put  out  of  countenance ;  their  scenes 
were  cut  short  and  hurried  through ;  the  expert  swords- 
man who,  as  Richmond  and  Macduff,  slew  the  star 
thrice  a  week  in  mortal  combat,  was  the  only  person 
who  shared  with  him  the  compliment  of  a  call  before 
the  curtain.  Naturally,  they  all  hated  Shakspere; 
and  the  audiences  distinctly  preferring  the  tragedian 
to  the  poet,  never  protested  against  his  palming  of  on. 
them  versions  by  Gibber  or  Garrick  as  genuine  Shak- 
sperean  plays. 

On  the  second  Saturday,  when  Madge  was  con- 
gratulating herself  on  having  only  six  days  more  of 
the  national  Bard  to  endure,  the  principal  actress 
sprained  her  ankle;  and  the  arrangements  for  the 
ensuing  week  were  thrown  into  confusion.  The 
manager  came  to  Madge's  lodging  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing, and  told  her  that  she  must  be  prepared  to  play 
Ophelia,  Lady  Ann,  and  Marion  Delorme  (in  Lytton's 
"Richelieu")  in  the  course  of  the  following  week.     It 


Love  Among  the  Artists  151 

was,  he  added,  a  splendid  chance  for  her.  Madge  was 
distracted.  She  said  again  and  again  that  it  was 
impossible,  and  at  last  ventured  to  remind  the  manager 
that  she  was  not  engaged  for  leading  parts.  He  dis- 
posed of  this  objection  by  promising  her  an  extra  ten 
shillings  for  the  week,  and  urged  upon  her  that  she 
would  look  lovely  as  Ophelia ;  that  the  tragedian  had 
made  a  point  of  giving  the  parts  to  her  because  he 
liked  her  elocution ;  that  his  fierceness  was  only  a  little 
way  of  his  which  meant  nothing;  that  he  had  already 
consented  to  substitute  "Hamlet"  and  "Richelieu" 
for  "Much  Ado"  and  "Othello"  because  he  was  too 
considerate  to  ask  her  to  play  Beatrice  and  Desde- 
mona;  and,  finally,  that  he  would  be  enraged  if  she 
made  any  objection.  She  would,  said  the  manager, 
shew  herself  as  willing  as  old  Mrs.  Walker,  who  had 
undertaken  to  play  Lady  Macbeth  without  a  moment's 
hesitation.  Madge,  ashamed  to  shrink  from  an 
emergency,  and  yet  afraid  of  failing  to  please  the 
tyrant  at  rehearsal,  resisted  the  manager's  importu- 
nity until  she  felt  hysterical.  Then,  in  desperation,  she 
consented,  stipulating  only  that  she  should  be  released 
from  playing  in  the  farces.  She  spent  that  Sunday 
learning  the  part  of  Ophelia,  and  was  able  to  master  it 
and  to  persuade  herself  that  the  other  two  parts  would 
not  take  long  to  learn,  before  she  went  to  bed,  dazed 
by  study  and  wretched  from  dread  of  the  morrow. 
"Hamlet"  had  been  played  twice  already,  and  only  the 
part  of  Ophelia  and  that  of  the  player  queen  needed 
to  be  rehearsed  anew.  On  Monday  morning  the  tra- 
gedian was  thoughtful  and  dignified,  but  hard  to  please. 
He  kept  Madge  at  his  scene  with  Ophelia  for  more 
than  an  hour.     She  had  intended  to  try  and  fancy  that 


152  Love  Among  the  Artists 

she  was  really  Ophelia,  and  he  really  Hamlet;  but 
when  the  time  came  to  practice  this  primitive  theory 
of  acting,  she  did  not  dare  to  forget  herself  for  a 
moment.  She  had  to  count  her  steps,  and  repeat  her 
entrance  four  times  before  she  succeeded  in  placing 
herself  at  the  right  moment  in  the  exact  spot  towards 
which  the  tragedian  looked  when  exclaiming  "Soft 
you  now!  The  fair  Ophelia."  For  a  long  time  she 
could  not  offer  him  the  packet  of  letters  in  a  satis- 
factory manner;  and  by  the  time  this  difficulty  was 
mastered,  she  was  so  bewildered  that  when  he  said, 
**I  loved  you  not,"  she,  instead  of  replying,  "I  was 
the  more  deceived,"  said,  "Indeed,  my  lord,  you  made 
me  believe  so,"  whereupon  he  started;  looked  at  her 
for  a  moment,  muttering  imprecations  between  his 
teeth;  and  abruptly  walked  off  the  stage,  leaving  her 
there  alone,  wondering.  Suddenly  she  bethought  her- 
self of  what  she  had  done;  and  her  cheeks  began  to 
tingle.  She  was  relieved  by  the  return  of  Hamlet, 
who,  unable  to  find  words  to  express  his  feelings, 
repeated  his  speech  without  making  any  verbal  com- 
ment on  her  slip.  This  time  she  made  the  proper 
answer;  and  the  rehearsal  proceeded.  The  new 
player  queen  suffered  less  than  Madge  had  done  a 
week  before,  the  tragedian  treating  her  with  brief 
disdain.  He  was  very  particular  about  Ophelia's 
chair  and  fan  in  the  play  scene ;  but  when  these  were 
arranged,  he  left  the  theatre  without  troubling  him- 
self about  the  act  in  which  he  did  not  himself  appear. 
Madge,  left  comparatively  to  her  own  devices  in 
rehearsing  it,  soon  felt  the  want  of  his  peremptory 
guidance,  and  regretted  his  absence  almost  as  much  as 
she  was  relieved  by  it.     The  queen,  jealous,  like  the 


Love  Among  the  Artists  153 

other  actresses,  of  Madge's  promotion,  was  disparag- 
ing in  her  manner;  and  the  king  rehearsed  with  osten- 
tatious carelessness,  being  out  of  humor  at  having  to 
rehearse  at  all.  Everybody  present  shewed  that  they 
did  not  consider  the  scene  of  the  least  importance;  and 
Madge  sang  her  snatches  of  ballads  with  a  dishearten- 
ing sense  of  being  unpopular  and  ridiculous. 

The  performance  made  amends  to  her  for  the 
rehearsal.  The  tragedian  surpassed  himself;  and 
Madge  was  compelled  to  admire  him,  although  he  was 
in  his  fiftieth  year  and  personally  disagreeable  to  her. 
For  her  delivery  of  the  soliloquy  following  her  scene 
with  him,  she  received,  as  her  share  of  the  enthusiasm 
he  had  excited,  a  round  of  applause  which  gratified 
her  the  more  because  she  had  no  suspicion  that  he  had 
earned  the  best  part  of  it.  The  scene  of  Ophelia's 
madness  was  listened  to  with  favor  by  the  audience, 
who  were  impressed  by  the  intensely  earnest  air  which 
nervousness  gave  Madge,  as  well  as  by  her  good  looks. 

Next  day  she  had  leisure  to  study  the  part  of  Lady 
Anne  in  Gibber's  adaptation  of  "Richard  III.,"  which 
was  rehearsed  on  the  Wednesday;  and  this  time  the 
tragedian  was  so  overbearing,  and  corrected  her  so 
frequently  and  savagely,  that  when  he  handed  her  his 
sword,  and  requested  her  to  stab  him,  she  felt  disposed 
to  take  him  at  his  word.  In  the  scene  from  Richard's 
domestic  life  in  which  he  informs  his  wife  that  he 
hates  her,  he  not  only  spoke  the  text  with  a  cold 
ferocity  which  chilled  her,  but  cursed  at  her  under  his 
breath  quite  outrageously.  At  last  she  was  stung  to 
express  her  resentment  by  an  indignant  look,  which 
fell  immediately  before  his  frown.  When  the 
rehearsal,    which,    though    incomplete,    lasted    from 


154  Love  Among  the  Artists 

eleven  to  four,  was  over,  Madge  was  angry  and  very 
tired.  As  she  was  leaving,  she  passed  near  Richard, 
who  was  conversing  graciously  with  the  manager  and 
one  of  the  actors.  The  night  before,  he  had 
threatened  to  leave  the  theatre  because  the  one  had  cur- 
tailed his  stage  escort  by  two  men ;  and  he  had  accused 
the  other  of  intentionally  insulting  him  by  appearing 
on  the  stage  without  spurs. 

"Who  is  that  little  girl?"  he  said  aloud,  pointing  to 
Madge. 

The  manager,  surprised  at  the  question,  made  some 
reply  which  did  not  reach  her,  his  voice  and  utterance 
being  less  sonorous  and  distinct  than  the  tragedian's. 

"Unquestionably  she  has  played  with  me.  I  am 
aware  of  that.     What  is  she  called?" 

The  manager  told  him. 

"Come  here,"  he  said  to  Madge,  in  his  grand 
manner.     She  reddened,  and  stopped. 

"Come  here,"  he  repeated,  more  emphatically.  She 
was  too  inexperienced  to  feel  sure  of  her  right  to  be 
treated  more  respectfully,  so  she  approached  him 
slowly. 

"Who  taught  you  to  speak?" 

"A  gentleman  in  London,"  she  said,  coldly.  "A 
Mr.  Jack." 

"Jack!"  The  tragedian  paused.  "Jack!"  he 
repeated.  Then,  with  a  smile,  and  a  graceful  action 
of  his  wrists,  "I  never  heard  of  him."  The  other  men 
laughed.  "Would  you  like  to  tour  through  the 
provinces  with  me — to  act  with  me  every  night?" 

"Oho!"  said  the  manager,  jocularly,  "I  shall  have 
something  to  say  to  that.  I  cannot  afford  to  lose 
her." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  155 

**You  need  not  be  alarmed,"  said  Madge,  all  her 
irritation  suddenly  exploding  in  one  angry  splutter. 
"I  have  not  the  slightest  intention  of  breaking  my 
present  engagement,  particularly  now,  when  the  most 
unpleasant  part  of  it  is  nearly  over. "  And  she  walked 
away,  pouting  and  scarlet.  The  manager  told  her 
next  day  that  she  had  ruined  herself,  and  had  made  a 
very  ungrateful  return  for  the  kindness  that  she,  a 
beginner,  had  received  from  the  greatest  actor  on  the 
stage.  She  replied  that  she  was  not  conscious  of 
having  received  anything  but  rudeness  from  the 
greatest  actor  on  the  stage,  and  that  if  she  had  offended 
him  she  was  very  glad.  The  manager  shook  his  head 
and  retired,  muttering  that  a  week's  leading  business 
had  turned  her  head.  The  tragedian,  who  had  been, 
for  so  terrible  a  person,  much  wounded  and  put  out  of 
heart  by  her  attack,  took  no  further  notice  of  her, 
demanding  no  fresh  rehearsal  of  Ophelia,  and  only 
giving  her  a  few  curt  orders  in  the  small  part  of  Marion 
Delorme.  At  last  he  departed  from  Nottingham ;  and 
Madge,  for  the  first  time  since  his  arrival,  lay  down  to 
sleep  free  from  care. 

Her  next  part  was  that  of  a  peasant  girl  in  an  Irish 
melodrama.  She  looked  very  pretty  in  her  Connemara 
cloak  and  short  skirt,  but  was  hampered  by  her  stage 
brogue,  which  only  made  her  accent  aggressively 
English.  During  this  period,  she  was  annoyed  by  the 
constant  attendance  in  the  stalls  of  a  young  gentleman 
who  flung  bouquets  to  her;  followed  her  to  her  lodg- 
ing; and  finally  wrote  her  a  letter  in  which  he  called 
her  a  fairy  Red  Riding  Hood,  describing  his  position 
and  prospects,  and  begging  her  to  marry  him.  Madge 
after  some  hesitation  as  to  the  advisability  of  noticing 


156  Love  Among  the  Artists 

this  appeal,  replied  by  a  note  declining  his  offer,  and 
requesting  him  to  discontinue  his  gifts  of  flowers, 
which,  she  said,  were  a  source  of  embarrassment,  and 
not  of  pleasure,  to  her.  After  this,  the  young  gentle- 
man, instead  of  applauding,  as  before,  sat  in  his  stall 
with  folded  arms  and  a  gloomy  expression.  Madge, 
who  was  by  this  time  sufficiently  accustomed  to  the 
stage  to  recognize  faces  among  the  audience,  took  care 
not  to  look  at  him ;  and  so,  after  a  week,  he  ceased  to 
attend  and  she  saw  him  no  more. 

The  Irish  melodrama  passed  on  to  the  next  town; 
and  an  English  opera  company  came  in  its  place  for  a 
fortnight,  during  which  Madge  found  the  time  hang 
heavy  on  her  hands,  as  she  took  no  part  in  the  per- 
formances, though  she  went  to  the  theatre  daily  from 
habit.  She  was  glad  when  she  was  at  work  again  in  a 
modern  play  with  which  a  popular  actress  was  making 
the  tour  of  the  provinces.  This  actress  was  an 
amiable  woman;  and  Madge  enacted  Celia  in  "As  You 
Like  It"  at  her  benefit  without  any  revival  of  the  dread 
of  Shakspere  which  the  tragedian  had  implanted  in 
her.  She  was  now  beginning  to  tread  the  boards  with 
familiar  ease.  At  first,  the  necessity  of  falling 
punctually  into  certain  prearranged  positions  on  the 
stage,  and  of  making  her  exits  and  entrances  at  pre- 
scribed sides,  had  so  preoccupied  her  that  all  freedom 
of  attention  or  identification  of  herself  with  the  char- 
acter she  represented  had  been  impossible.  To  go 
through  her  set  task  of  speeches  and  manoeuvres  with 
accuracy  was  the  most  she  could  hope  to  do.  Now, 
however,  these  mechanical  conditions  of  her  art  not 
only  ceased  to  distract  her,  but  enabled  her  to  form 
plans  of  acting  which  stood  the  test  of  rehearsal.     She 


Love  Among  the  Artists  157 

became  used  to  learning  parts,  not  from  a  book  of  the 
play,  but  from  a  mere  list  of  the  fragments  v/hich  she 
had  to  utter;  so  that  she  committed  her  lines  to 
memory  first,  and  found  out  what  they  were  about 
afterwards.  She  was  what  is  called  by  actors  a  quick 
study;  and  in  Nottingham,  where,  besides  the 
principal  piece,  one  and  often  two  farces  were  per- 
formed nightly,  she  had  no  lack  of  practice.  In  four 
months,  she  was  second  in  skill  only  to  the  low  come- 
dian and  the  old  woman,  and  decidedly  superior  to 
the  rest  of  the  stock  company,  most  of  whom  had 
neither  natural  talent  nor  even  taste  for  the  stage,  and 
only  earned  their  livelihood  on  it  because,  their 
parents  having  been  in  the  profession,  they  had  been 
in  a  manner  born  into  it. 

Madge's  artistic  experience  thenceforth  was  varied, 
though  her  daily  course  was  monotonous.  Other 
tragedians  came  to  Nottingham,  but  none  nearly  so 
terrible,  nor,  she  reluctantly  confessed,  nearly  so  gifted 
as  he  who  had  taught  her  the  scene  from  Hamlet. 
Some  of  them,  indeed,  objected  to  the  trouble  of 
rehearsing,  and  sent  substitutes  who  imitated  them  in 
every  movement  and  so  drilled  the  company  to  act 
with  them.  Occasionally  a  part  in  a  comedy  of  con- 
temporary life  enabled  Madge  to  profit  by  her  knowl- 
edge of  fashionable  society  and  her  taste  in  modem 
dress.  The  next  week,  perhaps,  she  would  have  to 
act  in  a  sensational  melodrama,  and,  in  a  white  muslin 
robe,  to  struggle  in  the  arms  of  a  pickpocket  in 
corduroys,  with  his  clothes  and  hands  elaborately 
begrimed.  Once  she  had  to  play  with  the  wreck  of  a 
celebrated  actress,  who  was  never  free  from  the  effects 
of  brandy,  and  who    astonished    Madge    by  walking 


158  Love  Among  the  Artists 

steadily  on  the  stage  when  she  could  hardly  stand  off  it. 
Then  Shakspere,  sensation  drama,  Irish  melodrama, 
comic  opera  or  pantomime,  new  comedy  from  London 
over  again,  with  farce  constantly.  Study,  rehearsal,  and 
performance  became  part  of  her  daily  habits.  Her  old 
enthusiasm  for  the  mock  passions  of  the  stage  left  her, 
and  was  succeeded  by  a  desire  to  increase  her  skill  in 
speaking  by  acquiring  as  much  resource  in  shades  of 
meaning  as  Jack  had  given  her  in  pure  pronunciation, 
and  to  add  as  many  effective  gestures  as  possible  to 
the  stock  she  had  already  learnt.  When  she  was  not 
engaged  at  the  theatre  she  was  at  her  lodging,  practis- 
ing the  management  of  a  train,  trying  to  acquire  the 
knack  of  disposing  her  dress  prettily  in  the  act  of  sit- 
ting down,  or  arranging  her  features  into  various 
expressions  before  a  mirror.  This  last  branch  of  her 
craft  was  the  most  troublesome  to  her.  She  had 
learned  from  Jack,  much  to  her  surprise,  that  she  could 
not  make  her  face  express  anger  or  scorn  by  merely 
feeling  angry  or  scornful.  The  result  of  that  method 
was  a  strained  frown,  disagreeable  to  behold;  and  it 
was  long  before  she  attained  perfect  control  of  her 
features,  and  artistic  judgment  in  exercising  it.  Some- 
times she  erred  on  the  side  of  exaggeration,  and  failed 
to  conceal  the  effort  which  her  studied  acting  required. 
Then  she  recoiled  into  tameness  and  conventionality. 
Then,  waking  from  this,  she  tried  a  modification  of 
her  former  manner,  and  presently  became  dissatisfied 
with  that  too,  and  remodified  it.  Not  until  she  had 
gone  through  two  years  of  hard  study  and  practice 
did  she  find  herself  mistress  of  a  fairly  complete 
method;  and  then  indeed  she  felt  herself  an  actress. 
She  ridiculed  the  notion  that  emotion  had  anything  to 


Love  Among  the  Artists  159 

do  with  her  art,  and  seriously  began  to  think  of  taking 
a  pupil,  feeling  that  she  could  make  an  actress  of  any 
girl,  the  matter  being  merely  one  of  training.  When 
she  had  been  some  four  months  in  this  phase,  she  had 
a  love  affair  with  a  young  acting  manager  of  a  touring 
company.  The  immediate  effect  was  to  open  her  eyes 
to  the  fact  that  the  people  were  tired  of  her  complete 
method,  and  that  she  was  tired  of  it  too.  She  flung  it 
at  once  to  the  winds  for  ever,  and  thenceforth  greatly 
undervalued  her  obligations  to  the  study  it  had  cost 
her,  declaring,  in  the  teeth  of  her  former  opinion,  that 
study  and  training  were  useless,  and  that  the  true 
method  was  to  cultivate  the  heart  and  mind  and  let  the 
acting  take  care  of  itself.  She  cultivated  her  mind  by 
high  reading  and  high  thinking  as  far  as  she  could. 
As  to  the  cultivation  of  her  heart,  the  acting  manager 
taught  her  that  the  secret  of  that  art  was  love.  Now 
it  happened  that  the  acting  manager,  though  pleasant- 
looking  and  good-natured,  was  by  no  means  clever, 
provident,  or  capable  of  resisting  temptation,  Madge 
never  could  make  up  her  mind  whether  he  had 
entangled  her  or  she  him.  In  truth  love  entangled 
them  both;  and  Madge  found  that  love  suited  her 
excellently.  It  improved  her  health;  it  enlarged  her 
knowledge  of  herself  and  of  the  world;  it  explained 
her  roles  to  her,  thawed  the  springs  of  emotion  that 
had  never  flowed  freely  before  either  on  or  off  the 
stage,  threw  down  a  barrier  that  had  fenced  her  in 
from  her  kind,  and  replaced  her  vague  aspirations, 
tremors,  doubts,  and  fits  of  low  spirits  with  an  elate 
enjoyment  in  which  she  felt  that  she  was  a  woman  at 
last.  Nevertheless,  her  attachment  to  the  unconscious 
instrument  of  this  mysterious  change  proved  transient. 


i6o  Love  Among  the  Artists 

The  acting  manager  had  but  slender  intellectual 
resources :  when  his  courtship  grew  stale,  he  became  a 
bore.  After  a  while,  their  professional  engagements 
carried  them  asunder;  and  as  a  correspondent  he  soon 
broke  down.  Madge,  did  not  feel  the  parting:  she 
found  a  certain  delight  in  being  fancy-free;  and  before 
that  was  exhausted  she  was  already  dreaming  of  a  new 
lover,  an  innocent  young  English-opera  librettist, 
whom  she  infatuated  and  ensnared  and  who  came 
nearer  than  she  suspected  to  blowing  out  his  brains 
from  remorse  at  having,  as  he  thought,  ensnared  her. 
His  love  for  her  was  abject  in  its  devotion;  but  at  last 
she  went  elsewhere,  and,  as  her  letters  also  presently 
ceased,  his  parents,  with  much  trouble,  managed  to 
convince  him  at  last  that  she  no  longer  cared  for  him. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  these  proceedings  cost 
Madge  her  self-respect.  She  stood  on  her  honor 
according  to  her  own  instinct ;  took  no  gifts ;  tolerated 
no  advances  from  men  whose  affections  were  not  truly 
touched;  absorbed  all  her  passion  in  her  art  when 
there  were  no  such  deserving  claimants;  never  sold 
herself  or  threw  herself  away ;  would  content  herself 
at  any  time  with  poetry  without  love  rather  than 
endure  love  without  poetry.  She  rather  pitied  her 
married  colleagues,  knowing  perfectly  well  that  they 
were  not  free  to  be  so  fastidious,  reserved,  and  tem- 
perate as  her  instinct  told  her  a  great  artist  should 
always  be.  Polite  society  pretended  to  respect  her 
when  it  asked  her  to  recite  at  bazaars  or  charity  con- 
certs: at  other  times  it  did  not  come  into  contact  with 
her,  nor  trouble  itself  as  to  her  conformity  to  its  rules, 
since  she,  as  an  actress,  was  out  of  polite  society  from 
the    start.     The    ostracism    which    is    so   terrible  to 


Love  Among  the  Artists  i6i 

women  whose  whole  aim  is  to  know  and  be  known  by 
people  of  admitted  social  standing  cannot  reach  the 
woman  who  is  busily  working  with  a  company  bound 
together  by  a  common  co-operative  occupation,  and 
who  obtains  at  least  some  word  or  sign  of  welcome 
from  the  people  every  night.  As  to  the  Church,  it 
had  never  gained  any  hold  on  Madge :  it  was  to  her 
only  a  tedious  hypocrisy  out  of  all  relation  with  her 
life.  Her  idea  of  religion  was  believing  the  Bible 
because  God  personally  dictated  it  to  Moses,  and  going 
to  church  because  her  father's  respectability  required 
her  to  comply  with  that  custom.  Knowing  from  her 
secular  education  that  such  belief  in  the  Bible  was 
as  exploded  as  belief  in  witchcraft,  and  despising 
respectability  as  those  only  can  who  have  tasted  the 
cream  of  it,  she  was  perfectly  free  from  all  pious 
scruples.  Habit,  prejudice,  and  inherited  moral 
cowardice  just  influenced  her  sufificiently  to  induce  her 
to  keep  up  appearances  carefully,  and  to  offer  no  con- 
tradiction to  the  normal  assumption  that  her  clandestine 
interludes  of  passion  and  poetry  were  sins.  But  she 
never  had  a  moment  of  genuine  remorse  after  once 
discovering  that  such  sins  were  conditions  of  her  full 
efficiency  as  an  actress.  They  had  brought  tones  into 
her  voice  that  no  teaching  of  Jack's  could  have 
endowed  her  with;  and  so  completely  did  she  now 
judge  herself  by  her  professional  powers,  that  this 
alone  brought  her  an  accession  instead  of  a  loss  of  self- 
respect.  She  was  humiliated  only  when  she  played 
badly.  If  one  of  the  clergymen  who  occasionally  asked 
her,  with  many  compliments,  to  recite  at  their  school 
fetes  and  the  like,  had  demanded  instead  what  it  could 
profit  her  to  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  her  own 


1 62  Love  Among  the  Artists 

soul,  she  might  Ixave  replied  with  perfect  sincerity  from 
her  point  of  view  that  she  had  given  up  the  whole 
world  of  Mrs.  Grundy  and  gained  her  own  soul,  and 
that,  whether  he  considered  it  judicious  to  mention  it 
or  not,  the  transaction  in  fact  profited  her  greatly. 

But  all  this  belonged  to  a  later  period  than  the 
novitiate  of  two  and  a  half  years  which  began  at  Nott- 
ingham. These  thirty  months  did  not  pass  without 
many  fits  of  low  spirits,  during  which  she  despaired  of 
success  and  hated  her  profession.  She  remained  at 
Nottingham  until  July,  when  the  theatre  there  was 
closed  for  a  time.  She  then  joined  a  travelling  com- 
pany and  went  through  several  towns  until  she 
obtained  an  engagement  at  Leeds.  Thence  she  went  to 
Liverpool,  where  she  remained  for  three  months,  at  the 
expiration  of  which  she  accepted  an  offer  made  her  by 
the  manager  of  a  theatre  in  Edinburgh,  and  went 
thither  with  a  salary  of  five  pounds  a  week,  the  largest 
wage  she  had  as  yet  received  for  her  services.  There 
she  stayed  until  August  in  the  second  year  of  her 
professional  life,  when  she  acted  in  London  for  the  first 
time,  and  was  disgusted  by  the  coldness  of  the  metro- 
politan audiences,  which  were,  besides,  but  scanty  at 
that  period  of  the  year.  She  was  glad  to  return 
to  the  provinces,  although  her  first  task  there  was 
again  to  support  her  old  acquaintance  the  tragedian, 
with  whom  she  quarrelled  at  the  first  rehearsal  with 
spirit  and  success.  Here,  as  leading  lady,  she  attemp- 
ted the  parts  of  Beatrice,  Portia,  and  Lady  Macbeth, 
succeeding  fairly  in  the  first,  triumphantly  in  the 
second  and  only  escaping  failure  by  her  insignificance 
in  the  third.  By  that  time  she  had  come  to  be  known 
by  the  provincial  managers  as  a  trustworthy,  hard- 


Love  Among  the  Artists  163 

working  young  woman,  safe  in  the  lighter  sorts  of 
leading  business,  and  likely  to  improve  with  more 
experience.  They  hardly  gave  her  credit  enough,  she 
thought,  for  what  seemed  to  her  the  slow  and  painful 
struggle  which  her  progress  had  cost  her.  Those  were 
the  days  in  which  she  was  building  up  the  complete 
method  which,  though  it  was  a  very  necessary  part  of 
her  training,  proved  so  shortlived.  She  had  had  to 
exhaust  the  direct  cultivation  of  her  art  before  she 
could  begin  the  higher  work  of  cultivating  herself  as 
the  source  of  that  art. 

Shortly  after  her  flight  from  Kensington,  her  twenty- 
first  birthday  had  placed  her  in  a  position  to  defy  the 
interference  of  her  family;  and  she  had  thereupon 
written  to  her  father  acquainting  him  with  her  where- 
abouts, and  with  her  resolve  to  remain  upon  the  stage 
at  all  hazards.  He  had  replied  through  his  solicitor, 
formally  disowning  her.  She  took  no  notice  of  this ; 
and  the  solicitor  then  sent  her  a  cheque  for  one 
hundred  pounds,  and  informed  her  that  this  was  all  she 
had  to  expect  from  her  father,  with  whom  she  was  not 
to  attempt  to  establish  any  further  communication. 
Madge  was  about  to  return  the  money,  but  was 
vehemently  dissuaded  from  doing  so  by  Mrs.  Cohen, 
who  had  not  at  that  time  quitted  Nottingham.  It 
proved  very  useful  to  her  afterwards  for  her  stage 
wardrobe.  In  defiance  of  the  solicitor's  injunction, 
she  wrote  to  Mr.  Brailsford,  thanking  him  for  the 
money,  and  reproaching  him  for  his  opposition  to  her 
plans.  He  replied  at  great  length;  and  eventually 
they  corresponded  regularly  once  a  month,  the  family 
resigning  themselves  privately  to  Madge's  being  an 
actress,  but  telling  falsehoods  publicly  to  account  for 


164  Love  Among  the  Artists 

her  absence.  The  donation  of  one  hundred  pounds 
was  repeated  next  year;  and  many  an  actress  whose 
family  heavily  burdened  instead  of  aiding  her,  envied 
Madge  her  independence. 

She  wrote  once  to  Jack,  telling  him  that  all  her 
success,  and  notably  her  early  promotion  from  the  part 
of  the  player  queen  to  that  of  Ophelia,  was  due  to  the 
method  of  delivering  verse  which  he  had  taught  her. 
He  answered,  after  a  long  delay,  with  expressions  of 
encouragement  curiously  mixed  up  with  inconsequent 
aphorisms;  but  his  letter  needed  no  reply,  and  she  did 
not  venture  to  write  again,  though  she  felt  a  desire  to 
do  so. 

This  was  the  reality  which  took  the  place  of  Madge's 
visions  of  the  life  of  an  actress. 


CHAPTER   IX 

The  year  after  that  in  which  Madge  had  her  autum- 
nal glimpse  of  the  London  stage  began  with  a  Gen- 
eral Election,  followed  by  a  change  in  the  Ministry,  a 
revival  of  trade,  a  general  fancy  that  things  were 
going  to  mend,  and  a  sudden  access  of  spirit  in 
political  agitation,  commercial  enterprise,  public 
amusements,  and  private  expenditure.  The  wave 
even  reached  a  venerable  artistic  institution  called  the 
Antient  Orpheus  Society,  established  nearly  a  century 
ago  for  the  performance  of  orchestral  music,  and  since 
regarded  as  the  pioneer  of  musical  art  in  England.  It 
had  begun  by  producing  Beethoven's  symphonies:  it 
had  ended  by  producing  a  typical  collection  of  old 
fogeys,  who  pioneered  backwards  so  fast  and  so  far 
that  they  had  not  finished  shaking  their  heads  over 
the  innovations  in  the  overture  to  "William  Tell" 
when  the  rest  of  the  world  were  growing  tired  of  the 
overture  to  "Tannhauser. "  The  younger  critics  had 
introduced  a  fashion  of  treating  the  Antient  Orpheus 
as  obsolescent;  and  even  their  elders  began  to  fore- 
bode the  extinction  of  the  Society  unless  it  were 
speedily  rejuvenated  by  the  supercession  of  the 
majority  of  the  committee.  But  the  warnings  of  the 
press,  as  usual,  did  not  come  until  long  after  the 
public  had  begun  to  abstain  from  the  Antient  Orpheus 
concerts ;  and  as  the  Society  in  its  turn  resisted  the 
suggestions  of  the  press  until  death  or  dotage  reduced 

165 


i66  Love  Among  the  Artists 

the  conservative  majority  of  the  committee  to  a 
minority,  the  credit  of  the  Antient  Orpheus  was 
almost  past  recovery  when  reform  was  at  last  decided 
on.  When  the  new  members  of  the  rejuvenated 
committee — three  of  whom  were  under  fifty — realized 
this,  they  became  as  eager  to  fill  the  concert  pro- 
grammes with  new  works  as  their  predecessors  had 
been  determined  to  exclude  them.  But  when  the 
business  of  selecting  the  new  works  came  to  be  con- 
sidered, all  was  discord.  Some  urged  the  advisabilit)'- 
of  performing  the  works  of  English  composers,  a  wil- 
ful neglect  of  which  had  been  that  one  of  the  practices 
of  the  old  committee  of  which  the  press  had  most  per- 
sistently complained.  To  this  it  was  objected  that  in 
spite  of  the  patriotic  complaints  of  critics,  the  public 
had  shewed  their  opinion  of  English  composers  by 
specially  avoiding  the  few  concerts  to  which  they  had 
been  allowed  to  contribute.  At  last  it  was  arranged 
that  an  English  work  should  be  given  at  the  first  con- 
cert of  the  season,  and  that  care  should  be  taken  to 
neutralize  its  repellent  effect  on  the  public  by  engag- 
ing a  young  Polish  lady,  who  had  recently  made  an 
extraordinary  success  abroad  as  a  pianist,  to  make 
her  first  appearance  in  England  on  the  occasion. 
Matters  being  settled  so  far,  question  now  arose  as  to 
what  the  new  English  work  should  be.  Most  of  the 
Committee  had  manuscript  scores  of  their  own,  com- 
posed thirty  years  before  in  the  interval  between  leav- 
ing the  academy  and  getting  enough  teaching  to  use 
up  all  their  energy ;  but  as  works  of  this  class  had 
already  been  heard  once  or  twice  by  the  public  with 
undisguised  tedium;  and  as  each  composer  hesitated 
to    propose    his    own    opus,    the    question    was   not 


Love  Among  the  Artists  167 

immediately  answered.  Then  a  recently-elected 
member  of  the  Committee,  not  a  professional 
musician,  mentioned  a  fantasia  for  pianoforte  and 
orchestra  of  which  he  had  some  private  knowledge. 
It  was  composed,  he  said,  by  a  young  man,  a  Mr. 
Owen  Jack.  The  chairman  coughed,  and  remarked 
coldly  that  he  did  not  recollect  the  name.  A  member 
asked  bluntly  who  Mr.  Jack  was,  and  whether  anybody 
had  ever  heard  of  him.  Another  member  protested 
against  the  suggestion  of  a  fantasia,  and  declared  that 
if  this  illustrious  obscure  did  not  know  enough  about 
musical  form  to  write  a  concerto,  the  Antient  Orpheus 
Society,  which  had  subsisted  for  nearly  a  century 
without  his  assistance,  could  probably  do  so  a  little 
longer.  When  the  laughter  and  applause  which  this 
speech  evoked  had  subsided,  a  good  natured  member 
remarked  that  he  had  met  a  man  of  the  name  of  Jack 
at  somebody's  place  in  Windsor,  and  had  heard  him 
improvise  variations  on  a  song  of  the  hostess's  in  a 
rather  striking  manner.  He  therefore  seconded  the 
proposal  that  Jack's  fantasia  should  be  immediately 
examined  with  a  view  to  its  performance  by  the  Polish 
lady  at  the  next  concert.  Another  member,  not  good 
natured,  but  professionally  jealous  of  the  last  speaker 
but  one,  supported  the  proposal  on  the  ground  that 
the  notion  that  the  Society  could  get  on  high-and- 
mightily  without  ever  doing  anything  new  was  just 
what  had  brought  it  to  death's  door.  This  naturally 
elicited  a  defiant  statement  that  the  Society  i,had  never 
been  more  highly  esteemed  than  at  that  hour;  and  a 
debate  ensued,  in  the  course  of  which  Jack's  ability 
was  hotly  attacked  and  defended  in  turn  by  persons 
who  had  never  heard  of  him  before  that  day.     Even- 


1 68  Love  Among  the  Artists 

tually  the  member  who  had  introduced  the  subject 
obtained  permission  to  invite  Mr.  Jack  to  submit  his 
fantasia  to  the  Committee. 

At  the  next  meeting  an  indignant  member  begged 
leave  to  call  the  attention  of  his  colleagues  to  a  docu- 
ment which  had  accompanied  the  score  forwarded  in 
response  to  the  invitation  by  which  the  Antient 
Orpheus  Society  had  honored  Mr.  Owen  Jack.  It 
was  a  letter  to  the  Secretary,  in  the  following  terms: — 

"Sir: — Herewith  you  will  find  the  instrumental 
partition  of  a  fantasia  composed  by  me  for  pianoforte 
and  orchestra.  I  am  willing  to  give  the  use  of  it  to 
the  Antient  Orpheus  Society  gratuitously  for  one  con- 
cert, on  condition  that  the  rehearsal  be  superintended 
by  me,  and  that,  if  I  require  it,  a  second  rehearsal  be 
held." 

The  member  said  he  would  not  dwell  on  the  propriety 
of  this  communication  to  the  foremost  musical  society 
in  Europe  from  a  minor  teacher,  as  he  had  ascertained 
Mr.  Jack  to  be.  It  had  been  sufficiently  rebuked  by 
the  Secretary's  reply,  despatched  after  the  partition 
had  been  duly  examined,  to  the  effect  that  the  work, 
though  not  destitute  of  merit,  was  too  eccentric  in 
form,  and  crude  in  harmonic  structure,  to  be  suitable 
for  public  performance  at  the  concerts  of  the  Society. 
This  had  elicited  a  second  letter  from  Mr.  Jack,  of 
which  the  member  would  say  nothing,  as  he  preferred 
to  leave  it  to  speak  for  itself  and  for  the  character  of 
the  writer. 


"Church  Street,  Kensington,  W. 
'Sir: — Your  criticism  was  uninvited,  and  is  value- 


Love  Among  the  Artists  169 

less  except  as  an  illustration  of  the  invincible  ignorance 
of  the  pedants  whose  mouthpiece  you  are.     I  am,  sir, 

"Yours  truly, 

"Owen  Jack." 

The  most  astute  diplomatist  could  not  have  written 
a  more  effective  letter  in  Jack's  favor  than  this  proved. 
The  party  of  reform  took  it  as  an  exquisite  slap  at 
their  opponents,  and  at  once  determined  to  make  the 
Secretary  smart  for  rejecting  the  work  without  the 
authority  of  the  whole  Committee.  Jack's  advocate 
produced  a  note  from  the  Polish  lady  acknowledging 
the  receipt  of  a  pianoforte  fantasia,  and  declaring  that 
she  should  be  enchanted  to  play  for  the  first  time  to 
an  English  audience  a  work  so  poetic  by  one  of  their 
own  nation.  He  explained  that  having  borrowed  a 
copy  of  the  pianoforte  part  from  a  young  lady  relative 
of  his  who  was  studying  it,  he  had  sent  it  to  the 
Polish  artist,  who  had  just  arrived  in  England.  Her 
opinion  of  it,  he  contended,  was  sufficient  to  show 
that  the  letter  of  the  secretary  was  the  result  of  an 
error  of  judgment  which  deserved  no  better  answer 
than  it  had  elicited.  The  secretary  retorted  that 
he  had  no  right  to  avail  himself  of  his  private 
acquaintance  with  the  pianist  to  influence  the  course 
of  the  Society,  and  stigmatized  Jack's  letter  as  the 
coarse  abuse  natural  to  the  vulgar  mind  of  a  self- 
assertive  charlatan.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  main- 
tained that  Jack  had  only  shewn  the  sensitiveness  of 
an  artist,  and  that  to  invite  a  composer  to  send  in  a 
work  and  then  treat  it  as  if  it  were  an  examination 
paper  filled  by  a  presumptuous  novice,  was  an 
impertinence  likely  to  bring  ridicule  as  well  as  odium 
upon  the  Antient  Orpheus.     The  senior  member,  who 


170  Love  Among  the  Artists 

occupied  the  chair,  now  declared  very  solemnly  that  he 
had  seen  the  fantasia,  and  that  it  was  one  of  those  law- 
less compositions  unhappily  too  common  of  late  years, 
which  were  hurrying  the  beautiful  art  of  Haydn  and 
Mozart  into  the  abyss  of  modern  sensationalism.  Here- 
upon someone  remarked  that  the  gentleman  had  fre- 
quently spoken  of  the  works  of  Wagner  in  the  same 
terms,  although  they  all  knew  that  Richard  Wagner 
was  the  greatest  composer  of  that  or  any  other  age. 
This  assertion  was  vehemently  repudiated  by  some, 
and  loudly  cheered  by  others.  In  the  hubbub  which 
followed,  Jack's  cause  became  identified  with  that  of 
Wagner;  and  a  motion  to  set  aside  the  unauthorized 
rejection  of  the  fantasia  was  carried  by  a  majority  of 
the  admirers  of  the  Prussian  composer,  not  one  of 
v/hom  knew  or  cared  a  straw  about  the  English  one. 

"I  am  glad  we  have  won  the  day,"  said  Mr.  Phipson, 
the  proposer  of  this  motion,  to  a  friend,  as  the  meeting 
broke  up;  "but  we  have  certainly  experienced  the 
truth  of  Mary's  remark  that  this  Jack  creates  nothing 
but  discord  in  real  life,  whatever  he  may  do  in 
music." 

Jack  at  first  refused  to  have  anything  further  to  do 
with  the  Atient  Orpheus ;  but  as  it  was  evident  that 
his  refusal  would  harm  nobody  except  himself,  he 
yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  Mary  Sutherland,  and 
consented  to  make  use  of  the  opportunity  she  had, 
through  Mr.  Phipson,  procured  for  him.  So  the 
negotiation  proceeded;  and  at  last,  one  comfortless 
wet  spring  morning,  Jack  got  out  of  an  omnibus  in 
Piccadilly,  and  walked  through  the  mud  to  St.  James's 
Hall,  where,  in  the  gloomy  rooms  beneath  the 
orchestra,   he  found  a    crowd  of  about  eighty  men, 


Love  Among  the  Artists  171 

chatting,  hugging  themselves,  and  stamping  because 
of  the  cold ;  stooping  over  black  bags  and  boxes  con- 
taining musical  instruments ;  or  reluctantly  unwinding 
woollen  mufflers  and  unbuttoning  great  coats.  He 
passed  them  into  a  lower  room,  where  he  found  three 
gentlemen  standing  in  courtly  attitudes  before  a 
young  lady  wrapped  in  furs,  with  a  small  head,  light 
brown  hair,  and  a  pale  face,  rather  toil  worn.  She 
received  them  with  that  natural  air  of  a  princess  in 
her  own  right  which  is  so  ineffectually  striven  for  by 
the  ordinary  princess  in  other  people's  rights.  As 
she  spoke  to  the  gentlemen  in  French,  occasionally 
helping  them  to  understand  her  by  a  few  words  of 
broken  English,  she  smiled  occasionally,  apparently 
more  from  kindness  than  natural  gaiety,  for  her  fea- 
tures always  relapsed  into  an  expression  of  patient  but 
not  unhappy  endurance.  Near  her  sat  an  old  foreign 
lady,  brown  skinned,  tall,  and  very  grim. 

Jack  advanced  a  few  steps  into  the  room;  glanced 
at  the  gentlemen ;  and  took  a  long  look  at  the  younger 
lady,  who,  like  the  rest,  had  had  her  attention  arrested 
by  his  impressive  ugliness.  He  scrutinized  her  so 
openly  that  she  turned  away  displeased,  and  a  little 
embarrassed.  Two  of  the  gentlemen  stared  at  him 
stiffly.  The  third  came  forward,  and  said  with  polite 
severity,  "What  is  your  business  here,  sir?" 

Jack  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  wrinkling  his 
face  hideously.  "I  am  Jack,"  he  said,  in  the  brassiest 
tone  of  his  powerful  voice.     "Who  are  you?" 

"Oh!"  said  the  gentleman,  relaxing  a  little.  "I 
beg  your  pardon.  I  had  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
you  by  sight,  Mr.  Jack.  My  name  is  Manlius,  at  your 
service."     Mr.   Manlius   was  the    conductor    of    the 


172  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Antient  Orpheus  orchestra.  He  was  a  learned 
musician,  generally  respected  becavise  he  had  given 
instruction  to  members  of  the  Royal  family,  and,  when 
conducting,  never  allowed  his  orchestra  to  forget  the 
restraint  due  to  the  presence  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
in  the  sofa  stalls. 

Jack  bowed.  Mr,  Manlius  considered  whether  he 
should  introduce  the  composer  to  the  young  lady. 
Whilst  he  hesitated,  a  trampling  overhead  was  suc- 
ceeded by  the  sounding  of  a  note  first  on  the  piano- 
forte and  then  on  the  oboe,  instantly  followed  by  the 
din  of  an  indescribable  discord  of  fifths  from  innumer- 
able strings,  varied  by  irrelevant  chromatic  scales 
from  the  wood  wind,  and  a  doleful  tuning  of  slides 
from  the  brass.  Jack's  eyes  gleamed.  Troubling 
himself  no  further  about  Mr.  Manlius,  he  went  out 
through  a  door  leading  to  the  stalls,  where  he  found 
a  knot  of  old  gentlemen  disputing.  One  of  them 
immediately  whispered  something  to  the  others;  and 
they  continued  their  discussion  in  a  lower  tone.  Jack 
looked  at  the  orchestra  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
returned  to  the  room  he  had  left,  where  the  elder 
lady  was  insisting  in  French  that  the  pianoforte 
fantasia  should  be  rehearsed  before  anything  else, 
as  she  was  not  going  to  wait  in  the  cold  all  day. 
Mr.  Manlius  assured  her  that  he  had  anticipated 
her  suggestion,  and  should  act  upon  it  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"It  is  oil  the  same  thinks,"  said  the  young  lady  in 
English.  Then  in  French.  "Even  if  you  begin  with 
the  fantasia.  Monsieur,  I  shall  assuredly  wait  to  hear 
for  the  first  time  your  famous  band  perform  in  this 
ancient  hall." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  173 

Manlius  bowed.  When  he  straightened  himself 
again,  he  found  Jack  standing  at  his  elbow.  "Allow 
me  to  present  to  you  Monsieur  Jack,"  he  said, 

"It  is  for  Monsieur  Jacques  to  allow,"  she  replied. 
"The  poor  artist  is  honored  by  the  presence  of  the 
illustrious  English  composer." 

Jack  nodded  gravely  as  acknowledging  that  the 
young  woman  expressed  herself  becomingly.  Manlius 
grinned  covertly,  and  proposed  that  they  should  go 
upon  the  orchestra,  as  the  band  was  apt  to  get  out  of 
humor  when  too  much  time  was  wasted.  She  rose  at 
once,  and  ascended  the  steps  on  the  arm  of  the  con- 
ductor. She  was  received  with  an  encouraging  clap- 
ping of  hands  and  tapping  of  fiddle  backs.  Jack 
followed  with  the  elder  lady,  who  sat  down  on  the  top 
stair,  and  began  to  knit. 

"If  you  wish  to  conduct  the  rehearsal,"  said  Manlius 
politely  to  Jack,  "you  are,  of  course,  quite  welcome  to 
do  so." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jack.  "I  will."  Manlius,  who 
had  hardly  expected  him  to  accept  the  offer,  retired  to 
the  pianoforte,  and  prepared  to  turn  over  the  leaves 
for  the  player. 

"I  think  I  can  play  it  from  memory,"  she  said  to 
him,  "unless  Monsieur  Jacques  puts  it  all  out  of  my 
head.  Judging  by  his  face,  it  is  certain  that  he  is  not 
very  patien Ah!  Did  I  not  say  so?" 

Jack  had  rapped  the  desk  sharply  with  his  stick, 
and  was  looking  balefully  at  the  men,  who  did  not 
seem  in  any  hurry  to  attend  to  him.  He  put  down 
the  stick ;  stepped  from  the  desk ;  and  stooped  to  the 
conductor's  ear. 

"I  mentioned,"  he  said,  "that  some  of  the  parts 


174  Love  Among  the  Artists 

ought  to  be  given  to  the  men  to  study  before  rehearsal. 
Has  that  been  done?" 

Manlius  smiled.  "My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "I  need 
hardly  tell  you  that  players  of  such  standing  as  the 
members  of  the  Antient  Orpheus  orchestra  do  not 
care  to  have  suggestions  of  that  kind  offered  to  them. 
You  have  no  cause  to  be  uneasy.  They  can  play  any- 
thing— absolutely  anything,  at  sight. ' ' 

Jack  looked  black,  and  returned  to  his  desk  without 
a  word.  He  gave  one  more  rap  with  his  stick,  and 
began.  The  players  were  attentive,  but  many  of  them 
tried  not  to  look  so.  For  a  few  bars.  Jack  conducted 
under  some  restraint,  apparently  striving  to  repress  a 
tendency  to  extravagant  gesticulation.  Then,  as 
certain  combinations  and  progressions  sounded  strange 
and  farfetched,  slight  bursts  of  laughter  were  heard. 
Suddenly  the  first  clarinettist,  with  an  exclamation  of 
impatience,  put  down  his  instrument. 

"Well?"  shouted  Jack.     The  music  ceased. 

"I  can't  play  that,"  said  the  clarinettist  shortly. 

"Can  j<?z^  p\'dy  it?"  said  Jack,  with  suppressed  rage, 
to  the  second  clarinettist. 

"No,"  said  he.     "Nobody  could  play  it." 

"That  passage  /ms  been  played;  and  it  must  be 
played.     It  has  been  played  by  a  common  soldier." 

"If  a  common  soldier  even  attempted  it,  much  less 
played  it,"  said  the  first  clarinettist,  with  some  con- 
temptuous indignation  at  what  he  considered  an  evident 
falsehood,  "he  must  have  been  drunk."  There  was 
a  general  titter  at  this. 

Jack  visibly  wrestled  with  himself  for  a  moment. 
Then,  with  a  gleam  of  humor  like  a  flash  of  sunshine 
through  a    black  thundercloud,  he   said:      "You  are 


Love  Among  the  Artists  175 

right.  He  w^j  drunk."  The  whole  band  roared  with 
laughter. 

"Well,  /am  not  drunk,"  said  the  clarinettist,  folding 
his  arms. 

"But  will  you  not  just   try  wh "     Here  Jack, 

choked  by  the  effort  to  be  persuasive  and  polite,  burst 
out  raging:  "It  can  be  done.  It  shall  be  done.  It 
must  be  done.  You  are  the  best  clarinet  player  in 
England.  I  know  what  you  can  do. ' '  And  Jack  shook 
his  fists  wildly  at  the  man  as  if  he  were  accusing  him 
of  some  infamous  crime.  But  the  compliment  was 
loudly  applauded,  and  the  man  reddened,  not  alto- 
gether displeased.  A  cornist  who  sat  near  him  said 
soothingly  in  an  Irish  accent,  "Aye,  do,  Joe.     Try  it." 

"You  will:  you  can,"  shouted  Jack  reassuringly, 
recovering  his  self-command.  "Back  to  the  double 
bar.  Now!"  The  music  recommenced;  and  the 
clarinettist,  overborne,  took  up  his  instrument,  and, 
when  the  passage  was  reached,  played  it  easily, 
greatly  to  his  own  astonishment.  The  brilliancy  of 
the  effect,  too,  raised  him  for  a  time  into  a  prominence 
which  rivalled  that  of  the  pianist.  The  orchestra 
positively  interrupted  the  movement  to  applaud  it; 
and  Jack  joined  in  with  high  good  humor. 

"If  you  are  uneasy  about  it,"  said  he,  with  an 
undisguised  chuckle,  "I  can  hand  it  over  to  the 
violins." 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,"  said  the  clarinettist.  "Now 
I've  got  it,  I'll  keep  it." 

Jack  rubbed  his  nose  until  it  glowed  like  a  coal ;  and 
the  movement  proceeded  without  another  stoppage, 
the  men  now  seeing  that  Jack  was  in  his  right  place. 

But  when  a  theme  marked  andante  cantabile,  which 


176  Love  Among  the  Artists 

formed  the  middle  section  of  the  fantasia,  was  com- 
menced by  the  pianist,  Jack  turned  to  her ;  said 
"Quicker,  quicker.  Plus  vtie'';  and  began  to  mark 
his  beat  by  striking  the  desk.  She  looked  at  him 
anxiously ;  played  a  few  bars  in  the  time  indicated  by 
him ;  and  then  threw  up  her  hands  and  stopped, 

"I  cannot, "  she  exclaimed.  "I  must  play  it  more 
slowly  or  not  at  all. ' ' 

"Certainly,  it  shall  be  slower  if  you  desire  it,"  said 
the  elder  lady  from  the  steps.  Jack  looked  at  her  as 
he  sometimes  looked  at  Mrs.  Simpson.  "Certainly  it 
shall  not  be  slower,  if  all  the  angels  desired  it,"  he 
said,  in  well  pronounced  but  barbarously  ungrammat- 
ical  French.  "Go  on;  and  take  the  time  from  my 
beat." 

The  Polish  lady  shook  her  head ;  folded  her  hands 
in  her  lap ;  and  looked  patiently  at  the  music  before 
her.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  during  which 
Jack,  thus  mutely  defied,  glared  at  her  with  distorted 
features.  Manlius  rose  irresolutely.  Jack  stepped 
down  from  the  desk ;  handed  him  the  stick ;  and  said 
in  a  smothered  voice,  "Be  good  enough  to  conduct  this 
lady's  portion  of  the  fantasia.  When  my  music 
recommences,  I  will  return." 

Manlius  took  the  stick  and  mounted  the  desk,  the 
orchestra  receiving  him  with  applause.  In  the  midst 
of  it  Jack  went  out,  giving  the  pianist  a  terrible  look 
as  he  passed  her,  and  transferring  it  to  her  companion, 
who  raised  her  eyebrows  and  shoulders  contemptuously. 

Manlius  was  not  the  man  to  impose  his  own  ideas  of 
a  composition  on  a  refractory  artist;  and  though  he 
was  privately  disposed  to  agree  with  Jack  that  the 
Polish  lady  was  misjudging  the  speed  of  the  move- 


Love  Among  the  Artists  177 

ment,  he  obediently  followed  her  playing  with  his 
beat.  But  he  soon  lost  his  first  impression,  and  began 
to  be  affected  by  a  dread  lest  anyone  should  make  a 
noise  in  the  room.  He  moved  his  stick  as  quietly  as 
possible,  and  raised  his  left  hand  as  if  to  still  the 
band,  who  were,  however,  either  watching  the  pianist 
intently  or  playing  without  a  trace  of  the  expert  off- 
handedness  which  they  had  affected  at  first.  The 
pleasure  of  listening  made  Manlius  forget  to  follow  the 
score.  When  he  roused  himself  and  found  his  place, 
he  perceived  that  the  first  horn  player  was  altering  a 
passage  completely,  though  very  happily.  Looking 
questioningly  in  that  direction,  he  saw  Jack  sitting 
beside  the  man  with  a  pencil  in  his  hand.  Manlius 
observed  for  the  first  time  that  he  had  an  expressive 
face  and  remarkable  eyes,  and  was  not,  as  he  had 
previously  seemed,  unmitigatedly  ugly.  Meanwhile 
the  knot  of  old  gentlemen  in  the  stalls,  who  had 
previously  chattered  subduedly,  became  quite  silent; 
and  a  few  of  them  closed  their  eyes  rapturously. 
The  lady  on  the  steps  alone  did  not  seem  to  care 
about  the  music.  At  last  the  flow  of  melody  waned 
and  broke  into  snatches.  The  pianoforte  seemed  to 
appeal  to  the  instruments  to  continue  the  song.  A 
melancholy  strain  from  the  violas  responded  hope- 
lessly; but  the  effect  of  this  was  marred  by  a  stir  in 
the  orchestra.  The  trombone  and  trumpet  players, 
hitherto  silent,  were  taking  up  their  instruments  and 
pushing  up  their  moustaches.  The  drummer,  after 
some  hasty  screwing  round  his  third  drum,  poised  his 
sticks;  and  a  supernumerary  near  him  rose,  cymbals 
in  hand;  fixed  his  eye  on  Manlius,  and  apparently 
stood  ready  to  clap  the  head  of  the  trumpet  player  in 


178  Love  Among  the  Artists 

front  of  him  as  a  lady  claps  a  moth  flying  from  a  wool- 
len curtain.     Manlius  looked  at  the  score  as  if  he  did 
not  quite  understand  the  sequel.     Suddenly,  as  the 
violas  ceased,  Jack  shouted  in  a  startling  voice,  "Let 
it  be  an  avalanche.     From  the  top  to  bottom  of  the 
Himalayas";    and   rushed    to   the   conductor's   desk. 
Manlius  made  way  for  him  precipitately;  and  a  tre- 
mendous explosion    of    sound   followed.      "Louder," 
roared  Jack.     "Louder.     Less  noise  and  more  tone. 
Out  with  it  like  fifty  million  devils."     And  he  led  the 
movement  at  a  merciless  speed.     The  pianist  looked 
bewildered,  like    the  band,  most  of  whom   lost  their 
places  after  the  first  fifty  bars ;  but  when  the  turn  of 
each  player  came,  he  found  the  conductor  glaring  at 
him,   and  was  swept  into    his  part    without    clearly 
knowing  how.     It   was  an   insensate  orgie  of  sound. 
Gay  melodies,  daintily  given  out  by  the  pianoforte,  or 
by  the  string  instruments,  were  derisivel}''  brayed  out 
immediately    afterwards    by   cornets,    harmonized  in 
thirds  with  the  most  ingenious  vulgarity.     Cadenzas, 
agilely  executed  by  the  Polish  lady,  were  uncouthly 
imitated  by  the  double  basses.     Themes  constructed 
like  ballads  with  choruses  were  introduced  instead  of 
orthodox  "subjects."     The  old  gentlemen  in  the  stalls 
groaned  and  protested.     The  Polish  lady,  incommoded 
by  the  capricious  and  often  excessive  speed  required 
of  her,  held  on  gallantly,  Jack  all  the  time  grinding 
his  teeth;  dancing;  gesticulating;  and  by  turns  shsh- 
sh-shing  at    the  orchestra,   or  shouting  to  them  for 
more  tone  and  less  noise.     Even  the  lady  on  the  steps 
had  begun  to  nod  to  the  impetuous  rhythm,  when  the 
movement  ended    as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun;  and 
all    the    players    rose    to    their    feet,   laughing    and 


Love  Among  the  Artists  179 

applauding  heartily.  Manlius,  from  whose  mind  the 
fantasia  had  banished  all  prejudice  as  to  Jack's  rank 
as  a  musician,  shook  his  hand  warmly.  The  Polish 
lady,  her  face  transfigured  by  musical  excitement, 
offered  her  hand  too.  Jack  took  it  and  held  it,  saying 
abruptly,  "Listen  to  me.  You  were  quite  right;  and 
I  am  a  fool.  I  did  not  know  what  there  was  in  my 
own  music,  and  would  have  spoiled  it  if  you  had  not 
prevented  me.  You  are  a  great  player,  because  you 
get  the  most  beautiful  tone  possible  from  every  note 
you  touch,  and  you  make  every  phrase  say  all  that  it 
was  meant  to  say,  and  more.  You  are  an  angel.  I 
would  rather  hear  you  play  scales  than  hear  myself 
play  sonatas.  And" — here  he  lowered  his  voice  and 
drew  her  aside — "I  rely  on  you  to  make  my  work 
succeed  at  the  concert.  Manlius  will  conduct  the 
band;  but  you  must  conduct  Manlius.  It  is  not 
enough  to  be  a  gentleman  and  a  contrapuntist  in 
order  to  conduct.     You  comprehend?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur;  I  understand  perfectly,  perfectly. 
I  will  do  my  best.  I  shall  be  inspired.  How  mag- 
nificent it  is!" 

"Allow  me  to  congratulate  you,  sir,"  said  one  of  the 
old  gentlemen,  advancing.  "Myself  and  colleagues 
have  been  greatly  struck  by  your  work.  I  am 
empowered  to  say  on  their  behalf  that  whatever 
difference  of  opinion  there  may  be  among  us  as  to  the 
discretion  with  which  you  have  employed  your  powers, 
of  the  extraordinary  nature  of  those  powers  there  can 
no  longer  be  a  doubt;  and  we  are  thoroughly 
gratified  at  having  chosen  for  performance  a  work 
which  displays  so  much  originality  and  talent  as  your 
fantasia. ' ' 


i8o  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Ten  years  ago,"  said  Jack,  looking  steadily  at  him, 
"I  might  have  been  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  At 
present  the  time  for  compliments  is  past,  unless  you 
wish  to  congratulate  me  on  the  private  interest  that 
has  gained  my  work  a  hearing.  My  talent  and 
originality  have  been  my  chief  obstacles  here." 

"Are  you  not  a  little  hasty?"  said  the  gentleman, 
disconcerted.  "Success  comes  late  in  London;  and 
you  are  still,  if  I  may  say  so,  a  comparatively  young 
man." 

"I  am  not  old  enough  to  harp  on  being  comparatively 
young.  I  am  thirty-four  years  old;  and  if  I  had 
adopted  any  other  profession  than  that  of  composer  of 
music,  I  should  have  been  earning  a  respectable  liveli- 
hood by  this  time.  As  it  is,  I  have  never  made  a 
farthing  by  my  compositions.  I  don't  blame  those 
who  have  stood  between  me  and  the  public:  their 
ignorance  is  their  misfortune,  and  not  their  fault.  But 
now  that  I  have  come  to  light  by  a  chance  in  spite  of 
their  teeth,  I  am  not  in  the  humor  to  exchange  pretty 
speeches  with  them.  Understand,  sir:  I  do  not  mean 
to  rebuff  you  personally.  But  as  for  your  colleagues, 
tell  them  that  it  does  not  become  them  to  pretend  to 
acknowledge  spontaneously  what  I  have  just,  after 
many  hard  years,  forced  them  to  admit.  Look  at 
those  friends  of  yours  shaking  their  heads  over  my 
score  there.  They  have  heard  my  music ;  but  they  do 
not  know  what  to  say  until  they  see  it.  Would  you 
like  me  to  believe  that  they  are  admiring  it?" 

"I  am  confident  that  they  cannot  help  doing  so." 

"They  are  shewing  one  another  why  it  ought  not 
to  have  been  written — hunting  out  my  consecutive 
fifths  and  sevenths,  and  my  false  relations— looking 


Love  Among  the  Artists  i8i 

for  my  first  subject,  my  second  subject,  my  working 
out,  and  the  rest  of  the  childishness  that  could  be 
taught  to  a  poodle.  Don't  they  wish  they  may  find 
them?" 

The  gentleman  seemed  at  a  loss  how  to  continue 
the  conversation.  "I  hope  you  are  satisfied  with  the 
orchestra, ' '  he  said  after  a  pause. 

"No,  I  am  not,"  said  Jack.  "They  are  over 
civilized.  They  are  as  much  afraid  of  showing  their 
individuality  as  if  they  were  common  gentlemen.  You 
cannot  handle  a  musical  instrument  with  kid  gloves 
on.  However,  they  did  better  than  I  hoped.  They  are 
at  least  not  coarse.     That  young  woman  is  a  genius." 

"Ye-es.  Almost  a  genius.  She  is  young,  of  course. 
She  has  not  the — I  should  call  it  the  gi^-antic  power 
and  energy  of  such  a  player,  for  instance,  as " 

"Pshaw!"  said  Jack,  interrupting  him.  "I,  or  any- 
body else,  can  get  excited  with  the  swing  of  a  Chopin's 
polonaise,  and  thrash  it  out  of  the  piano  until  the 
room  shakes.  But  she !  You  talk  of  making  a  piano- 
forte sing — a  child  that  can  sing  itself  can  do  that. 
But  she  can  make  it  speak.  She  has  eloquence,  the 
first  and  last  quality  of  a  great  player,  as  it  is  of  a 
great  man.  The  finale  of  the  fantasia  is  too  coarse 
for  her:  it  does  violence  to  her  nature.  It  was  written 
to  be  played  by  a  savage — like  me." 

"Oh,  undoubtedly,  undoubtedly!  She  is  a  remark- 
able   player.     I    did    not    for    a    moment   intend   to 

convey "     Here    Manlius    rapped    his  desk;    and 

Jack,  with  a  unceremonious  nod  to  his  interlocutor, 
left  the  platform.  As  he  passed  the  door  leading  to 
the  public  part  of  the  hall,  he  heard  the  voice  of  the 
elder  lady. 


1 82  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"My  child,  they  seek  to  deceive  you.  This  Monsieur 
Jacques,  with  whose  music  you  are  to  make  your 
debilt  here,  is  he  famous  in  England?  Not  at  all.  My 
God !  he  is  an  unknown  man. ' ' 

"Be  tranquil,  mother.  He  will  not  long  be 
unknown." 

Jack  opened  the  door  a  little  way;  thrust  his  face 
through;  and  smiled  pleasantly  at  the  pianist.  Her 
mother,  seeing  her  start,  looked  round  and  saw  him 
grimacing  within  a  yard  of  her. 

"Ah,  Lord  Jesus!"  she  exclaimed  in  German, 
recoiling  from  him.  He  chuckled,  and  abruptly  shut 
himself  out  of  her  view  as  the  opening  unison  of  the 
"Coriolan"  overture  sounded  from  the  orchestra.  The 
old  gentleman  who  had  congratulated  him  had 
rejoined  the  others  in  the  stalls. 

"Well,"  said  one  of  them:  "is  your  man  delighted 
with  himself?" 

"N-no,  I  cannot  say  that  he  is — or  rather  perhaps 
he  is  too  much  so.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  he  appears 
to  be  rather  morose — soured  by  his  early  difficulties, 
perhaps.  He  is  certainly  not  an  agreeable  person  to 
speak  to. ' ' 

"What  did  you  expect?"  said  another  gentleman 
coldly.  "A  man  who  degrades  music  to  be  the  vehicle 
of  his  own  coarse  humor,  and  shows  by  his  method  of 
doing  it  an  ignorant  contempt  for  those  laws  by 
which  the  great  composers  established  order  in  the 
chaos  of  sounds,  is  not  likely  to  display  a  courteous 
disposition  and  refined  nature  in  the  ordinary  business 
of  life." 

"I  assure  you.  Professor,"  said  a  third,  who  had 
the  score  of  the  fantasia  open  on  his  knees,  ' '  this  chap 


Love  Among  the  Artists  183 

must  know  a  devil  of  a  lot.  He  plays  old  Harry  with 
the  sonata  form ;  but  he  must  do  it  on  purpose,  you 
know,  really." 

The  gentleman  addressed  as  Professor  looked 
severely  and  incredulously  at  the  other.  "I  really 
cannot  listen  to  such  things  whilst  they  are  playing 
Beethoven,"  he  said.  "I  have  protested  against  Mr. 
Jack  and  his  like ;  and  my  protest  has  passed  unheeded. 
I  wash  my  hands  of  the  consequences.  The  Antient 
Orpheus  Society  will  yet  acknowledge  that  I  did  well 
when  I  counselled  it  to  renounce  the  devil  and  all  his 
works."  He  turned  away;  sat  down  on  a  stall  a  little 
way  off;  and  gave  all  his  attention  ostentatiously  to 
•'Coriolan." 

The  pianist  came  presently  and  sat  near  him.  The 
others  quickly  surrounded  her;  but  she  did  not  speak 
to  them,  and  shewed  by  her  attitude  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  be  spoken  to.  Her  mother,  who  did  not  care 
for  Coriolan,  and  wanted  to  go  home,  knitted  and 
looked  appealingly  at  her  from  time  to  time,  not 
venturing  to  express  her  impatience  before  so  many 
members  of  the  Antient  Orpheus  Society.  At  last 
Manlius  came  down;  and  the  whole  party  rose  and 
went  into  the  performers'  room. 

"How  do  you  find  our  orchestra?"  said  Manlius  to 
her  as  she  took  up  her  muff. 

"It  is  magnificent,"  she  replied.  "So  refined,  so 
quiet,  so  convenable!  It  is  like  the  English  gentle- 
man. ' '  Manlius  smirked.  Jack,  who  had  reappeared 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  group  with  his  hat  on — a  des- 
perately ill-used  hat — added : 

"A  Lithuanian  or  Hungarian  orchestra  could  not 
play  like  that,  eh?" 


184  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"No,  truly,"  said  the  Polish  lady,  with  a  little  shrug. 
"I  do  not  think  they  could." 

"You  flatter  us,"  said  Manlius  bowing.  Jack  began 
to  laugh.  The  Polish  lady  hastily  made  her  adieux, 
and  went  out  into  Piccadilly,  where  a  cab  was  brought 
for  her.  Her  mother  got  in;  and  she  was  about  to 
follow  when  she  heard  Jack's  voice  again,  at  her  elbow. 

"May  I  send  you  some  music?" 

"If  you  will  be  so  gracious.  Monsieur." 

"Good.     What  direction  shall  I  give  your  driver?" 

"F — f — you  call  it  Feetzroysquerre?" 

"Fitzroy  Square,"  shouted  Jack  to  the  cabman. 
The  hansom  went  off;  and  he,  running  recklessly 
through  the  mud  to  a  passing  Hammersmith  omnibus, 
which  was  full  inside,  climbed  to  the  roof,  and  was 
borne  away  in  the  rain. 


CHAPTER  X 

It  was  a  yearly  custom  of  the  Antient  Orpheus 
Society  to  give  what  they  called  a  soiree,  to  which  they 
invited  all  the  celebrated  persons  who  were  at  all  likely 
to  come.  These  meetings  took  place  at  a  house  in 
Harley  Street.  Large  gilt  tickets,  signed  by  three  of 
the  committee,  were  sent  to  any  distinguished  foreign 
composers  who  happened  to  be  in  London,  as  well  as 
to  the  president  of  the  Royal  Academy,  the  musical 
Cabinet  Minister  (if  there  was  one),  the  popular 
tragedian  of  the  day,  and  a  few  other  privileged 
persons.  The  rest  had  little  cards  of  invitation  from 
the  members,  who  were  each  entitled  to  introduce  a 
few  guests. 

To  the  one  of  these  entertainments  next  following 
the  fantasia  concert  came  a  mob  of  amateurs,  and  a 
select  body  of  pianists,  singers,  fiddlers,  painters, 
actors  and  journalists.  The  noble  vice-president  of 
the  society,  assisted  by  two  of  the  committee, 
received  the  guests  in  a  broad  corridor  which  had 
been  made  to  resemble  a  miniature  picture  gallery. 
The  guests  were  announced  by  two  Swiss  waiters, 
who  were  supposed  to  be  able  to  pronounce  foreign 
names  properly  because  they  could  not  pronounce 
English  ones.  Over  one  name  on  a  gilt  ticket,  that 
of  a  young  lady,  they  broke  down ;  and  she  entered 
unannounced  with  her  mother.  After  her  came  a 
member  and  his  party  of  four:  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Phipson, 

185 


1 86  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Mr.  Charles  Sutherland,  Miss  Sutherland,  and  Mr. 
Adrian  Herbert.  Then  other  members  with  their 
parties.  Then  the  last  of  the  gilt  tickets,  Mr.  Owen 
Jack,  whose  evening  dress  presented  the  novelty  of  a 
black  silk  handkerchief  tied  round  the  neck  with  the 
bow  under  his  right  ear. 

The  company  was  crowded  into  two  large  rooms. 
There  were  many  more  guests  than  seats;  and  those 
who  were  weak  or  already  weary  stood  round  the  walls 
or  by  the  pianoforte,  and  got  what  support  they  could 
by  leaning  against  them.  Mary  Sutherland  was 
seated  on  the  end  of  a  settee  which  supported  four 
other  persons,  and  would  have  accommodated  two 
comfortably. 

"Well?"  said  Jack,  coming  behind  the  settee. 

"Well,"  echoed  Mary.     "Why  are  you  so  late?" 

"For  the  usual  reason — because  women  are  meddle- 
some, I  could  not  find  my  clothes,  nor  my  studs,  nor 
anything.  I  will  endure  Mother  Simpson  no  longer. 
Next  week  I  pack." 

"So  you  have  been  threatening  any  time  within  the 
last  two  years.  I  wish  you  would  really  leave  Church 
Street." 

"So  you  have  been  preaching  any  time  these  fifty 
years.  But  I  must  certainly  do  so:  the  woman 
is  unendurable.  There  goes  Charlie.  He  looks 
quite  a  man,  like  the  rest  of  us,  in  his  swallow-tail 
coat." 

"He  looks  and  is  insufferably  self-conscious.  How 
crowded  the  rooms  are!  They  ought  to  give  their 
conversazione  in  St.  James's  Hall  as  well  as  their 
concerts." 

"They  never  did  and  never  will  do  anything  as  it 


Love  Among  the  Artists  187 

ought  to  be  done.     Where's  your  guide,  philosopher, 
and  friend?" 

"Whom  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Jack?" 

"What  color  is  your  dress?" 

"Sea  green.     Why?" 

"Nothing.     I  was  admiring  it  just  now." 

"Does  my  guide,  philosopher,  et  cetera,  mean  Mr. 
Herbert?" 

"Yes,  as  you  know  perfectly  well.  You  are  not 
above  giving  yourself  airs  occasionally.  Come,  where 
is  he?     Why  is  he  not  by  your  side?" 

"I  do  not  know,  I  am  sure.  He  came  in  with  us. 
Charlie." 

"Well?"  said  Charlie,  who  was  beginning  to  stand 
on  his  manhood.  "What  are  you  shouting  at  me  for? 
Oh,  how  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Jack?" 

"Where  is  Adrian?"  said  Mary. 

"In  the  next  room,  of  course." 

"Why  of  course?"  said  Jack. 

"Because  Miss  Spitsneezncough — or  whatever  her 
unpronounceable  name  may  be — is  there.  If  I  were 
you,  Mary,  I  should  look  rather  closely  after  Master 
Adrian's  attentions  to  the  fair  Polack. " 

"Hush.  Pray  do  not  talk  so  loud,  Charlie." 
Charlie  turned  on  his  heel,  and  strolled  away,  button- 
ing on  a  white  glove  with  a  negligent  air. 

"Come  into  the  next  room,"  said  Jack. 

"Thank  you.     I  prefer  to  stay  where  I  am." 

"Come,  Mrs.  Obstinate.  I  want  to  see  the  fair 
Polack  too:  I  love  her  to  distraction.  You  shall  see 
Mister  Herbert  supplanting  me  in  her  affections." 

"I  shall  stay  with  Mrs.  Phipson.  Do  not  let  me 
detain  you,  if  you  wish  to  go." 


1 88  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"You  are  going  to  be  ill-natured  and  spoil  oiir 
evening,  eh?" 

Mary  suppressed  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  and 
rose.  "If  you  insist  on  it,  of  course  I  will  come. 
Mrs.  Phipson :  I  am  going  to  walk  through  the  rooms 
with  Mr.  Jack." 

Mrs.  Phipson,  from  mere  habit,  looked  doubtful  of 
the  propriety  of  this  arrangement;  but  Jack  walked 
off  with  Mary  before  anything  further  passed.  In  the 
next  room  they  found  a  denser  crowd  and  a  very  warm 
atmosphere.  A  violinist  stood  tuning  his  instrument 
near  the  pianoforte,  at  which  the  young  Polish  lady 
sat.  Close  by  was  Adrian  Herbert,  looking  intently 
at  her. 

"Aha!"  said  Jack,  following  his  companion's  look, 
Mister  Adrian's  thoughts  have  come  to  an  anchor  at 
last."     As  he  spoke,  the  music  began. 

"What  are  they  playing?"  said  Mary  with  affected 
indifference. 

"The  Kreutzer  Sonata." 

"Oh!     I  am  so  glad." 

"Are  you,  indeed?  What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  fond  of 
music!  Do  you  know  that  we  shall  have  to  stand 
here  mumchance  for  the  next  twenty  minutes  listening 
to  them?" 

"Surely  if  I  can  enjoy  the  Kreutzer  Sonata,  you  can. 
You  are  only  pretending  to  be  unmusical." 

"I  wish  they  had  chosen  something  shorter.  How- 
ever, since  we  are  here,  we  had  better  hold  our 
tongues  and  listen." 

The  Sonata  proceeded;  and  Adrian  listened,  rapt. 
He  did  not  join  in  the  applause  between  the  move- 
ments: it  jarred  on  him. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  189 

**Why  don't  you  teach  yourself  to  play  like  that?" 
said  Jack  to  Mary. 

"I  suppose  because  I  have  no  genius,"  she  replied, 
not  pleased  by  the  question. 

"Genius!  Pshaw!  What  are  you  clapping  your 
hands  for?" 

"You  seem  to  be  in  a  humor  for  asking  unnecessary 
questions  to-night,  Mr.  Jack.  I  applaud  Herr  Josefs 
because  I  admire  his  playing. " 

"And  Mademoiselle.     How  do  you  like  kerf 

"She  is  very  good,  of  course.  But  I  really  do  not 
see  that  she  is  so  much  superior  to  other  pianists  as 
you  seem  to  consider  her.  I  enjoy  Josefs'  playing 
more  than  hers." 

"Indeed,"  said  Jack.  "Ho!  Ho!  Do  you  see  that 
hoary-headed  villain  looking  across  at  us?  That 
is  the  man  who  protested  against  my  fantasia  as  a 
work  of  the  devil;  and  now  he  is  coming  to  ask  me 
to  play. ' ' 

"And  will  you  play?" 

"Yes.     I  promised  Miss  Szczympliga  that  I  would." 

"Then  you  had  better  take  me  back  to  Mrs. 
Phipson." 

"What!     You  will  not  wait  and  listen  to  me?" 

"It  cannot  possibly  matter  to  you  whether  I  listen 
or  not.     I  cannot  stand  here  alone." 

"Then  come  back  to  Mrs.  Phipson.  I  will  not 
play." 

"Now  pray  do  not  be  so  disagreeable,  Mr.  Jack.  I 
wish  to  go  back  because  no  one  wants  me  here." 

"Either  you  will  stay  where  you  are,  or  I  will  not 
play." 

"I    shall    do    as    I    please,   Mr.   Jack.      You  have 


I90  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Mademoiselle  Szczympliga  to  play  for.  I  cannot  stay 
here  alone." 

"Mr.  Herbert  will  take  care  of  you." 

"I  do  not  choose  to  disturb  Mr,  Herbert." 

"Well,  well,  here  is  your  brother.  Hush! — if  you 
call  him  Charlie  aloud  here,  he  will  be  sulky.  Mr. 
Sutherland." 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Charlie,  gratefully.  Jack 
handed  over  Mary  to  him.  and  presently  went  to  the 
piano  at  the  invitation  of  the  old  gentleman  he  had 
pointed  out,  who  wore  a  gold  badge  on  his  coat  as 
one  of  the  stewards  of  the  entertainment.  He  had 
composed  a  symphony — his  second — that  year  for  the 
Antient  Orpheus:  a  laborious,  conscientious,  arid 
symphony,  full  of  unconscious  pickings  and  stealings 
from  Mendelssohn,  his  favorite  master,  scrupulously 
worked  up  into  the  strictest  academic  form.  It  was 
a  theme  from  this  symphony  which  Jack  now  sounded 
on  the  pianoforte  with  one  finger. 

"That  is  not  very  polite,"  said  Mr.  Phipson,  after 
explaining  this  to  the  Polish  lady.  "Poor  Maclagan! 
He  does  not  seem  to  like  having  his  theme  treated  in 
that  fashion." 

"If  he  intends  it  derisively,"  said  Adrian  indig- 
nantly, "it  is  in  execrable  taste.  Mr.  Maclagan  ought 
to  leave  the  room." 

"You  think  like  me,  Monsieur  Herbert,"  said 
Mademoiselle  Szczympliga.  "All  must  be  forgiven 
to  Monsieur  Jacques;  but  he  should  not  insult  those 
who  are  less  fortunately  gifted  than  he.  Besides,  it  is 
an  old  man. ' ' 

Jack  then  began  improvising  on  the  theme  with  a 
capriciousness  of  which  the  humor  was  lost  on  the 


Love  Among  the  Artists  191 

majority  of  the  guests.  He  treated  it  with  an  eccen- 
tricity which  buriesqued  his  own  style,  and  then  with 
a  pedantry  which  buriesqued  that  of  the  composer. 
At  last,  abandoning-  this  ironical  vein  when  it  had 
culminated  in  an  atrociously  knock-kneed  fugato^  he 
exercised  his  musical  fancy  in  earnest,  and  succeeded 
so  well  that  Maclagan  felt  tempted  to  rewrite  the 
middle  section  of  the  movement  from  which  the 
subject  was  taken.  The  audience  professed  to  be 
delighted,  and  were  in  truth  dazzled  when  Jack 
finished  by  a  commonplace  form  of  variation  in  which 
he  made  a  prodigious  noise  with  his  left  hand, 
embroidered  by  showers  of  arpeggios  with  his  right. 

"Magnificent!"  said  Mr.  Phipson,  applauding. 
"Splendid." 

"Ah!"  said  Mdlle.  Szczympliga,  sighing,  "if  I  had 
but  his  strength,  I  should  fear  no  competitor." 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  Herbert,  "that  you,  who  play 
so  beautifully,  can  envy  such  a  man  as  that.  I  would 
rather  hear  you  play  for  one  minute  than  listen  to 
him  for  an  hour." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Alas!"  she  said, 
"you  know  what  I  can  do;  and  you  are  so  good  as  to 
flatter  me  that  I  do  it  well.  But  I !  I  know  what  I 
cannot  do." 

"How  are  you,  Mademoiselle?"  said  Jack,  approach- 
ing them  without  staying  to  answer  several  persons 
who  were  congratulating  him.  "Good  evening,  Mr. 
Herbert.     Ah,  Mr.   Phipson." 

"Mademoiselle  Szczympliga  has  been  paying  you  a 
high  compliment — I  fully  agree  with  Mr.  Herbert  that 
it  is  an  exaggerated  one,"  said  Phipson.  "She  wishes 
she  could  play  like  you. ' ' 


192  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"And  so  Mr.  Herbert  thinks  'God  forbid!'  does  he? 
Well,  he  is  right.  Why  do  you  want  to  trample  on 
the  pianoforte  as  I  do,  Fraulein,  when  you  can  do  so 
much  better?  What  would  you  think  of  a  skifE  on  the 
waters  envying  the  attempts  of  a  cavalry  charger  to 
swim?" 

"I  see  from  your  playing  how  far  I  fall  short  in  the 
last  movement  of  the  fantasia,  Monsieur  Jacques.  I 
am  not  strong  enough  to  play  it  as  you  think  it 
should  be  played.  Ah  yes,  yes,  yes;  but  I  know — I 
know." 

"No,  Mademoiselle;  nor  are  you  strong  enough  to 
dance  the  war-dance  as  an  Iroquois  Indian  thinks  it 
should  be  danced.  The  higher  you  attain,  the  more 
you  leave  below  you.     Eh,  Mr.  Herbert?" 

"I  am  not  a  musician,"  said  Herbert,  irritated  by 
Jack's  whimsical  appeals  to  him.  "My  confirmation 
of  your  opinion  would  not  add  much  to  its  value." 

"Come,"  said  Jack:  "I  care  nothing  for  professional 
opinions.  According  to  them,  I  do  not  know  the 
rudiments  of  music.  Which  would  you  rather  hear 
the  Fraulein  play,  or  hear  me?" 

"Since  you  compel  me  to  express  a  preference,  I 
had  rather  hear  Mademoiselle  Szczympliga. " 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Jack,  delighted.  "Now  I  must 
go  back  to  Miss  Sutherland,  who  has  been  left  to  take 
care  of  herself  whilst  I  was  playiiag. 

Herbert  reddened.     Jack  nodded  and  walked  away. 

"Miss — Miss — I  cannot  say  it.  She  is  the  young 
lady  who  was  with  you  at  the  concert,  when  Monsieur 
Feepzon  introduced  us.  She  is  very  dark,  and  wears 
lunettes.     Is  not  that  so?" 

"Yes." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  193 

"She  is  not  stiff,  like  some  of  the  English  ladies.  Is 
she  a  great  friend  of  yours?" 

"She — Her  elder  brother,  who  is  married  to  Mrs. 
Phipson's  daughter,  was  at  school  with  me;  and  we 
were  great  friends." 

"Perhaps  I  should  not  have  asked  you.  I  fear  I 
often  shock  your  English  ideas  of  reserve.  I  beg  your 
pardon. ' ' 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Herbert,  annoyed  at  himself  for 
having  betrayed  his  uneasiness.  "Pray  do  not  let 
any  fear  of  our  national  shyness — for  it  is  not  really 
reserve — restrain  you  from  questioning  me  whenever 
you  are  interested  in  anything  concerning  me.     If  you 

knew  how  much  I  prize  that  interest "     She  drew 

back  a  little ;  and  he  stopped,  afraid  to  go  on  without 
encouragement,  and  looking  wistfully  at  her  in  the 
hope  of  seeing  some  in  her  face. 

"How  do  you  call  this  lady  who  is  going  to  sing?" 
she  said,  judging  it  better  to  ask  an  irrelevant  question 
than  to  look  down  and  blush.  Jack's  voice,  speaking 
to  Mary  close  by,  interrupted  them. 

"I  can  listen  to  Josefs  because  he  can  play  the 
fiddle,"  said  he,  "and  to  Szczympliga  because  she  can 
play  the  piano;  and  I  would  listen  to  her'' — pointing 
to  the  singer — "if  she  could  sing.  She  is  only  about 
four  years  older  than  you;  and  already  she  dare 
attempt  nothing  that  cannot  be  screamed  through  by 
main  force.  She  has  become  what  they  call  a 
dramatic  singer,  which  means  a  singer  with  a  worn- 
out  voice.     Come,  make  haste :  she  is  going  to  begin. ' ' 

"But  perhaps  she  will  feel  hurt  by  your  leaving  the 
room.  Now  that  you  are  famous,  you  cannot  come 
and  go  unnoticed,  as  I  can." 


194  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"So  much  the  worse  for  those  who  notice  me.  I 
hate  singers,  a  miserable  crew  who  think  that  music 
exists  only  in  their  own  throats.  There  she  goes  with 
her  Divinit^s  du  Styx.     Come  away  for  God's  sake." 

"I  think  this  room  is  the  pleas No,  I  do  not. 

Let  us  go. ' ' 

Mary's  habitual  look  of  resolution  had  gathered 
into  a  frown.  They  went  back  to  the  settee,  which 
was  now  deserted:  Mrs.  Phipson  and  her  neighbors 
having  gone  to  hear  the  music." 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  Jack,  sitting 
^down  beside  Mary.     "Are  you  jealous?" 

She  started  and  said  angrily.  "What  do  you  mean?" 
Then,  recovering  herself  a  little,  "Jealous  of  whom; 
and  why?" 

"Jealous  of  Szczympliga,  because  Mister  Herbert 
seems  to  forget  that  there  is  anyone  else  in  the  whole 
world  to-night. ' ' 

"I  did  not  notice  his  absorption.  I  am  sure  she  is 
very  welcome.  He  ought  to  be  tired  of  me  by  this 
time." 

"You  think  to  hoodwink  me,  do  you?  I  saw  you 
watching  him  the  whole  time  she  was  playing.  I  wish 
you  would  quarrel  with  him. ' ' 

"Why  do  you  wish  that?" 

"Because  I  am  tired  of  him.  If  you  were  well  rid 
of  the  fellow,  you  would  stick  to  your  music;  pitch 
your  nasty  oil  paints  into  the  Thames;  and  be  friendly 
to  me  without  accusing  yourself  of  treason  to  him.  He 
is  the  most  uncomfortable  chap  I  know,  and  the  one 
least  suited  to  you.  Besides,  he  can't  paint.  I  could 
do  better  myself,  if  I  tried." 

"Other  people  do  not  think  so.     I  have  suspected 


Love  Among  the  Artists  195 

ever  since  I  first  met  you  in  his  studio  you  did  not 
admire  his  painting." 

"You  had  the  same  idea  yourself,  or  you  would 
never  have  detected  it  in  me.  I  am  no  draughtsman; 
but  I  recognize  weakness  by  instinct.  You  feel  that 
he  is  a  duffer.     So  do  I." 

"Do  you  think,  if  he  were  a  duffer,  that  his  picture 
of  last  year  would  have  been  hung  on  the  line  at  the 
Academy;  or  that  the  Art  Union  would  have  bought 
it  to  engrave ;  or  that  the  President  would  have  spoken 
of  it  so  highly  to  Adrian  himself?" 

"Pshaw!  There  must  be  nearly  two  hundred 
pictures  on  the  line  every  year  at  the  Academy ;  and 
did  you,  or  anyone  else,  ever  see  an  Academy  exhibition 
with  ten  pictures  in  it  that  had  twenty  years  of  life 
in  them?  Did  the  President  of  the  Academy  of  Music 
ever  speak  well  of  me;  or,  if  he  did,  do  you  think  I 
should  fell  honored  by  his  approval?  That  is  another 
superfine  duffer's  quality  in  your  Mr.  Adrian.  He  is 
brimming  over  with  reverence.  He  is  humble,  and 
speaks  with  bated  breath  of  every  painter  that  has 
ever  had  a  newspaper  notice  written  about  him.  He 
grovels  before  his  art  because  he  thinks  that  grovelling 
becomes  him." 

"I  think  his  modesty  and  reverence  do  become 
him." 

"Perhaps  they  do,  because  he  has  nothing  to  be 
bumptuous  about;  but  they  are  not  the  qualities  that 
make  a  creative  artist.     Ha!  ha!" 

Mary  opened  her  fan,  and  began  to  fan  herself,  with 
her  face  turned  away  from  Jack. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "are  you  angry?" 

"No.     But  if  you  must  disparage  Adrian,  why  do 


196  Love  Among  the  Artists 

you  do  so  to  me?  You  know  the  relation  between 
us." 

"I  disparage  him  because  I  think  he  is  a  humbug. 
If  he  spends  whole  days  in  explaining  to  you  what  a 
man  of  genius  is  and  feels,  knowing  neither  the  one 
nor  the  other,  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  not  give  you 
my  opinion  on  the  subject,  since  I  am  in  my  own 
way — not  a  humble  way — a  man  of  genius  myself, " 

"Adrian,  unfortunately,  has  not  the  same  faith  in 
himself  that  you  have." 

"Perhaps  he  has  not  as  good  reason.  A  man's  own 
self  is  the  last  person  to  believe  in  him,  and  is  harder 
to  cheat  than  the  rest  of  the  world.  I  sometimes 
wonder  whether  I  am  not  an  impostor.  Old  Bee- 
thoven once  asked  a  friendly  pupil  whether  he  really 
considered  him  a  good  composer.  Shakspere,  as  far 
as  I  can  make  out,  only  succeeded  about  half-a-dozen 
times  in  his  attempt  at  play  writing.  Do  you  suppose 
he  didn't  know  it?" 

"Then  why  do  you  blame  Adrian  for  his  diffidence?" 

"Ah!  that's  a  horse  of  another  color.  He  thinks 
himself  worse  than  other  men,  mortal  like  himself.  I 
think  myself  a  fool  occasionally,  because  there  are 
times  when  composing  music  seems  to  me  to  be  a 
ridiculous  thing  in  itself.  Why  should  a  rational  man 
spend  his  life  in  making  jingle-jingle  with  twelve 
notes?  But  at  such  times  Bach  seems  just  as  great  a 
fool  as  I.  Ask  me  at  any  time  whether  I  cannot  com- 
pose as  good  or  better  music  than  any  Tom,  Dick,  or 
Harry  now  walking  upon  two  legs  in  England;  and  I 
shall  not  trouble  you  with  any  cant  about  my  humble- 
ness or  un worthiness. ' ' 

"Can  you  compose  better  music  than  Mozart's?    I 


Love  Among  the  Artists  197 

believe  you  are  boasting  out  of  sheer  antipathy  to 
poor  Adrian?" 

"Does  Mozart's  music  express  me?  If  not,  what 
does  it  matter  to  me  whether  it  is  better  or  worse?  I 
must  make  my  own  music,  such  as  it  is  or  such  as  I 
am — and  I  would  as  soon  be  myself  as  Mozart  or 
Beethoven  or  any  of  them.  To  hear  your  Adrian  talk 
one  would  think  he  would  rather  be  anybody  than 
himself.     Perhaps  he  is  right  there,  too." 

"Let  it  be  agreed,  Mr.  Jack,  that  you  have  a  low 
opinion  of  Adrian ;  and  let  us  say  no  more  about  him." 

"Very  well.  But  let  us  go  back  to  the  other  room. 
You  are  in  a  bad  humor  for  a  quiet  chat,  Miss  Mary." 

"Then  go  alone;  and  leave  me  here.  I  do  not  mind 
being  here  by  myself  at  all.  I  know  I  am  not  gaily 
disposed;  and  I  fear  I  am  spoiling  your  evening." 

"You  are  gay  enough  for  me.  I  hate  women  who 
are  always  grinning.  Besides,  Miss  Mary,  I  am  fond 
of  you,  and  find  attraction  in  all  your  moods." 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  you  are  very  fond  of  me,"  said 
Mary  with  listless  irony,  as  she  walked  away  with  him. 
In  the  other  room  they  came  upon  Herbert,  seeking 
anxiously  someone  in  the  eddy  near  the  door,  formed 
by  people  going  away.  Mary  did  not  attempt  to 
disturb  him;  but  he  presently  caught  sight  of  her. 
Thinking  that  she  was  alone — for  Jack,  buttonholed 
by  Phipson,  had  fallen  behind  for  a  moment — he  made 
his  way  to  her  and  said: 

"Where  is  Mrs.   Phipson,  Mary?     Are  you  alone?'* 

"I  have  not  seen  her  for  some  time,"  She  had  all 
but  added  that  she  hoped  he  had  not  disturbed  him- 
self to  come  to  her;  but  she  refrained,  feeling  that 
spiteful  speeches  were  unworthy  of  herself  and  of  him. 


198  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Where  did  you  vanish  to  for  so  long?"  he  said. 
"I  have  hardly  seen  you  the  whole  evening." 

"Were  you  looking  for  me?" 

He  avoided  her  eyes,  and  stepped  aside  to  make  way 
for  a  lady  who  was  passing.  "Shall  I  get  you  an  ice?" 
he  said,  after  this  welcome  interruption.  "It  is  very 
warm  in  here. ' ' 

"No,  thank  you.     You  know  that  I  never  eat  ices." 

"I  thought  that  this  furnace  of  a  room  might  have 
prevailed  over  your  hygienic  principles.  Have  you 
enjoyed  yourself?" 

"I  have  not  been  especially  happy  or  the  reverse.  I 
enjoyed  the  music." 

"Oh  yes.  Don't  you  think  Mdlle.  Szczympliga 
plays  beautifully?" 

"I  saw  that  you  thought  so.  She  is  able  to  bring  an 
expression  into  your  face  that  I  have  never  seen  there 
before." 

Herbert  looked  at  her  quickly:  he  became  quite  red. 
"Yes,"  he  said,  "she  certainly  plays  most  poetically. 
By  the  bye,  I  think  Mr.  Jack  behaved  very  badly  in 
publicly  making  game  of  Mr.  Maclagan.  Everybody 
in  the  room  was  disgusted." 

Mary  was  ready  to  retort  in  defence  of  Jack;  but 
before  she  could  utter  it  Mrs.  Phipson  came  up, 
aggrieved,  and  speaking  more  loudly  than  was  at  all 
necessary.  "Well,  Mr.  Herbert,"  she  was  saying, 
"you  really  have  behaved  most  charmingly  to  us  all 
the  evening.  I  think  we  may  go  now,  Mary.  Josefs 
has  gone ;  and  Szczympliga  is  going,  so  there  is  really 
nothing  to  stay  for.  Why  Adrian  Herbert  is  gone 
again!     How  excessively  odd!" 

"He  is  gone  to  get  Mdlle.  Szczympliga's  carriage," 


Love  Among  the  Artists  199 

said  Mary,  quietly.  "Be  careful,"  she  added,  in  a 
lower  tone:  "Mdlle.  Szczympliga  is  close  behind  us." 

"Indeed!  And  who  is  to  get  our  carriage?"  said 
Mrs.  Phipson,  crossly,  declining  to  abate  her  voice  in 
the  least.  "Oh,  really,  Mary,  you  must  speak  to  him 
about  this.  What  is  the  use  of  your  being  his  fiancee 
if  he  never  does  anything  for  you?  He  has  behaved 
very  badly.  Mr.  Phipson  is  with  that  Frenchwoman 
who  sang.  He  is  only  happy  when  he  is  running 
errands  for  celebrities.  I  suppose  we  must  either 
take  care  of  ourselves,  or  wait  until  Adrian  con- 
descends to  come  back  for  us." 

"We  had  better  not  wait.  I  see  Charlie  in  the  next 
room :  he  will  look  after  us.     Come. ' ' 

The  Polish  lady  passed  them,  and  followed  her 
mother  down  the  staircase.  The  cloak  room  was 
crowded;  but  Madame  Szczympli^a  fought  her  way  in, 
and  presently  returned  with  an  armful  of  furs.  She 
was  assisted  into  some  of  these  by  her  daughter,  who 
was  about  to  wrap  herself  in  a  cloak,  when  it  was 
taken  from  her  by  Herbert. 

"Allow  me,"  he  said,  placing  the  cloak  on  her 
shoulders.  ' '  I  must  not  delay  you :  your  servant  has 
brought  up  your  carriage;  but " 

"Let  us  go  quickly,  my  child,"  said  Madame. 
"They  scream  like  devils  for  us.  Au  revoir.  Monsieur 
Herbert.     Come,  Aur^lie!" 

"Adieu,"  said  Aur^lie,  hurrying  away.  He  kept 
beside  her  until  she  stepped  into  the  carriage. 
"Certainly  not  adieu,"  he  said  eagerly.  "May  I  not 
come  to  see  you,  as  we  arranged?" 

"No,"  she  replied.  "Your  place  is  beside  Miss 
Sutherland,  your  affianced.     Adieu." 


200  Love  Among  the  Artists 

The  carriage  sped  off;  and  he  stood,  gaping-,  until  a 
footman  reminded  him  that  he  was  in  the  way  of  the 
next  party.  He  then  returned  to  the  hall,  where  Mrs. 
Phipson  informed  him  coldly  that  she  was  sorry  she 
could  not  offer  him  a  seat  in  her  carriage,  as  there  was 
no  room.  So  he  bade  them  good-night,  and  walked 
home. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Every  day,  from  ten  in  the  forenoon  to  twelve, 
Mademoiselle  Szczympliga  practised  or  neglected  the 
pianoforte,  according  to  her  mood,  whilst  her  mother 
discussed  household  matters  with  the  landlady,  and 
accompanied  her  to  market.  On  the  second  morning 
after  the  conversazione^  Madame  went  out  as  usual. 
No  sooner  had  she  disappeared  in  the  direction  of 
Tottenham  Court  Road  than  Adrian  Herbert  crossed 
from  the  opposite  angle  of  the  square,  and  knocked  at 
the  door  of  the  house  she  had  just  left. 

Whilst  he  waited  on  the  doorstep,  he  could  hear  the 
exercise  Aur^lie  was  playing  within.  It  was  a  simple 
affair,  such  as  he  had  often  heard  little  girls  call  "five- 
finger"  exercises;  and  was  slowly  and  steadily  con- 
tinued as  if  the  player  never  meant  to  stop.  The  door 
was  opened  by  a  young  woman,  who,  not  expecting 
visitors  at  that  hour,  and  being  in  a  slatternly  condition, 
hid  her  hand  in  her  apron  when  she  saw  Adrian. 

"Will  you  ask  Miss  Szczympliga  whether  she  can  see 
me,  if  you  please." 

The  servant  hesitated,  and  then  went  into  the  parlor, 
closing  the  door  behind  her.  Presently  she  came  out, 
and  said  with  some  embarrassment,  "Maddim  Chim- 
pleetsa  is  not  at  home,  sir." 

*'I  know  that,"  said  he.  "Tell  mademoiselle  that  I 
have  a  special  reason  for  calling  at  this  hour,  and  that 
I  beg  her  to  see  me  for  a  few  moments."     He  put  his 

20I 


202  Love  Among  the  Artists 

hand  into  his  pocket  for  half-a-crown  as  he  spoke ;  but 
the  woman  was  gone  again  before  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  give  it  to  her.  Bribing  a  servant  jarred  his 
sense  of  honor. 

"If  it's  very  particular,  madamazel  says  will  you 
please  to  walk  in;"  said  she,  returning. 

Adrian  followed  her  to  the  parlor,  a  lofty,  spacious 
apartment  with  old  fashioned  wainscotting,  and 
a  fire  place  framed  in  white  marble,  carved  with 
vases  and  garlands.  The  piano  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room;  and  the  carpet  was  rolled 
up  in  a  corner,  so  as  not  to  deaden  the  resonance 
of  the  boards.  Aur^lie  was  standing  by  the  piano, 
looking  at  him  with  a  curious  pucker  of  her  shrewd 
face. 

"I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me,"  said  Herbert, 
with  such  evident  delight  in  merely  seeing  her,  that 
she  lowered  her  eyelids.  "I  know  I  have  interrupted 
your  practising;  and  I  have  even  watched  to  see 
madame  go  out  before  coming  to  you.  But  I  could 
not  endure  another  day  like  yesterday. ' ' 

Aurelie  hesitated ;  then  seated  herself  and  motioned 
him  to  a  chair,  which  he  drew  close  to  her.  "What 
was  the  matter  yesterday?"  she  said,  coquetting  in 
spite  of  herself. 

' '  It  was  a  day  of  uncertainty  as  to  the  meaning  of 
the  change  in  your  manner  towards  me  at  Harley 
Street  on  Monday,  after  I  had  left  you  for  a  few 
minutes." 

Aurelie  made  a  little  grimace,  but  did  not  look  at 
him.     "Why  should  I  change?"  she  said. 

"That  is  what  I  ask  you.  You  did  change — some- 
body had  been  telling  you  tales  about  me;  and  you 


Love  Among  the  Artists  203 

believed  them."  Aur^lie's  eyes  lightened  hopefully. 
"Will  you  not  charge  me  openly  with  whatever  has 
displeased  you;  and  so  give  me  an  opportunity  to 
explain." 

"You  must  have  strange  customs  in  England,"  she 
said,  her  eyes  flashing  again,  this  time  with  anger. 
"What  right  have  I  to  charge  you  with  anything? 
What  interest  have  I  in  your  affairs?" 

"Aur61ie,"  he  exclaimed,  astonished:  "do  you  not 
know  that  I  love  you  like  a  madman?" 

"You  never  told  me  so,"  she  said.  "Do  English- 
women take  such  things  for  granted?"  She  blushed 
as  she  said  so,  and  immediately  bent  her  face  into 
her  hands;  laughed  a  little  and  cried  a  little  in  a 
breath.  This  lasted  only  an  instant;  for,  hearing 
Herbert's  chair  drawn  rapidly  to  the  side  of  hers, 
she  sat  erect,  and  checked  him  by  a  movement  of  her 
wrist. 

"Monsieur  Herbert:  according  to  our  ideas  in  my 
country  a  declaration  of  love  is  always  accompanied  by 
an  offer  of  marriage.  Do  you  then  offer  me  your  love, 
and  reserve  your  hand  for  Miss  Sutherland?" 

"You  are  unjust  to  yourself  and  to  me,  Aur^lie.  I 
offered  you  only  my  love  because  I  could  think  of 
nothing  else.  I  do  not  expect  you  to  love  me  as 
blindly  as  I  love  you ;  but  will  you  consent  to  be  my 
wife?  I  feel — I  know  by  instinct  that  there  can  be  no 
more  unhappiness  for  me  in  the  world  if  you  will  only 
call  me  your  dearest  friend."  He  said  this  in  a 
moment  of  intoxication,  produced  by  an  accidental 
touch  of  her  sleeve  against  his  hand. 

Aur61ie  became  pensive.  "No  doubt  you  are  our 
dear  friend,  Monsieur  Herbert.     We  have  not  many 


204  Love  Among  the  Artists 

friends.  I  do  not  find  that  there  is  any  such  thing  as 
love." 

"You  do  not  care  for  me,"  he  said,  dejected. 

"Indeed,  you  must  not  think  so,"  she  said  quickly. 
"You  have  been  very  kind  to  us,  though  we  are 
strangers.  For  we  are  strangers,  are  we  not?  You 
hardly  know  us.     And  you  are  so  foreign!" 

"I !  I  have  not  a  drop  of  foreign  blood  in  my  veins. 
You  are  not  accustomed  to  England  yet.  I  hope  you 
do  not  think  me  too  cold.  Oh,  I  am  jealous  of  all 
your  countrymen!" 

"You  need  not  be,  Heaven  knows!  We  have  few 
friends  in  Poland." 

"Aur61ie:  do  you  know  that  you  are  saying 'we,' 
and  'us,'  as  if  you  did  not  understand  that  I  love  you 
alone — that  I  am  here,  not  as  a  friend  of  your  family, 
but  as  a  suitor  to  yourself,  blind  to  the  existence  of 
any  other  person  in  the  universe.  In  your  presence 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  alone  in  some  gallery  of  great 
pictures,  or  listening  in  a  beautiful  valley  to  the 
singing  of  angels,  yet  with  some  indescribable  rapture 
added  to  that  feeling.  Since  I  saw  you,  all  my  old 
dreams  and  enthusiasms  have  come  to  life  again. 
You  can  blot  them  out  for  ever,  or  make  them  ever- 
lasting with  one  word.     Do  you  love  me?" 

She  turned  hesitatingly  towards  him,  but  waited  to 
say,  "And  it  is  then  wholly  false  what  Madame  Feep- 
zon  said  that  night?  " 

''''What  did  she  say?"  demanded  Herbert,  turning 
red  with  disappointment. 

She  drew  back,  and  looked  earnestly  at  him. 
"Madame  said,"  she  replied  in  a  low  voice,  "that 
Miss  Sutherland  was  your  affianced." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  205 

"Let  me  explain, "  said  Adrian,  embarrassed.  She 
rose  at  once,  shocked.  "Explain!"  she  repeated. 
"Oh,  Monsieur,  yes  or  no?" 

"Yes,  then,  since  you  will  not  listen  to  me,"  he  said, 
with  some  dignity.  She  sat  down  again,  slowly,  look- 
ing round  as  if  for  counsel. 

"What  shall  you  not  think  of  me  if  I  listen  now?" 
she  said,  speaking  for  the  first  time  in  English. 

"I  shall  think  that  you  love  me  a  little,  perhaps. 
You  have  condemned  me  on  a  very  superficial  infer- 
ence, Aur^lie.  Engagements  are  not  irrevocable  in 
England.  May  I  tell  you  the  truth  about  Miss 
Sutherland?" 

Aur^lie  shook  her  head  doubtfully,  and  said  noth- 
ing.    But  she  listened. 

"I  became  engaged  to  her  more  than  two — nearly 
three  years  ago.  As  I  told  you,  her  elder  brother, 
Mr.  Phipson's  son-in-law,  is  a  great  friend  of  mine; 
and  through  him  I  came  to  know  her  very  intimately. 
I  owe  it  to  her  to  confess  that  her  friendship  sustained 
me  through  a  period  of  loneliness  and  discouragement, 
a  period  in  which  my  hand  was  untrained,  and  my 
acquaintances,  led  by  my  mother,  v/ere  loud  in  their 
contempt  for  my  ability  as  an  artist  and  my  per- 
verseness  and  selfishness  in  throwing  away  oppor- 
tunities of  learning  banking  and  stockbroking.  Miss 
Sutherland  is  very  clever  and  well  read.  She  set  her- 
self to  study  painting  with  ardor  when  I  brought  it 
under  her  notice,  and  soon  became  a  greater  enthusiast 
than  I.  She  probably  exaggerated  my  powers  as  an 
artist:  at  all  events  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  gave  me 
credit  for  much  of  the  good  influence  upon  her  that 
was  really  wrought  by  her  new  acquaintance  with  the 


2o6  Love  Among  the  Artists 

handiwork  of  great  men.  However  that  may  be,  we 
were  united  in  our  devotion  to  art;  and  I  was  deeply- 
grateful  to  her  for  being  my  friend  when  I  had  no 
other.  I  was  so  lonely  that  in  my  fear  of  losing  her 
I  begged  her  to  betroth  herself  to  me.  She  consented 
without  hesitation,  though  my  circumstances  neces- 
sitated a  long  engagement.  That  engagement  has 
never  been  formally  dissolved ;  but  fulfilment  of  it  is 
now  impossible.  Long  before  I  saw  you  and  found 
out  for  the  first  time  what  love  really  is,  our  relations 
had  insensibly  altered.  Miss  Sutherland  cooled  in 
her  enthusiasm  for  painting  as  soon  as  she  discovered 
that  it  could  not  be  mastered  like  a  foreign  language 
or  an  era  in  history.  She  came  under  the  influence  of 
Mr.  Jack,  who  may  be  a  man  of  genius — I  am  no 
judge  of  musical  matters — and  who  is  undoubtedly, 
in  his  own  way,  a  man  of  honor.  But  he  is  so  far  from 
possessing  the  temperament  of  an  artist,  that  his 
whole  character,  his  way  of  living,  and  all  his  actions, 
are  absolutely  destructive  of  that  atmosphere  of 
melancholy  grandeur  in  which  great  artists  find  their 
inspiration.  His  musical  faculty,  to  my  mind,  is  as 
extraordinary  an  accident  as  if  it  had  occurred  in  a 
buffalo.  However,  Miss  Sutherland  turned  to  him  for 
guidance  in  artistic  matters;  and  doubtless  he  saved 
her  the  trouble  of  thinking  for  herself;  for  she  did  not 
question  him  as  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  question- 
ing me.  Perhaps  he  understood  her  better  than  I. 
He  certainly  behaved  towards  her  as  I  had  never 
behaved;  and,  though  it  still  seems  to  me  that  my 
method  was  the  more  respectful  to  her,  he  supplanted 
me  in  her  regard  most  effectually.  I  do  not  mean  to 
convey  that  he  did  so  intentionally;  for  anything  less 


Love  Among  the  Artists  207 

suggestive  of  affection  for  any  person — even  for  him- 
self— than  his  general  conduct,  I  cannot  imagine ;  but 
she  chose  not  to  be  displeased.  I  was  hurt  by  her 
growing  preference  for  him :  it  discouraged  me  more 
than  the  measure  of  success  which  I  had  begun  to 
achieve  in  my  profession  elated  me.  Yet  on  my  honor 
I  never  knew  what  jealousy  meant  until  I  saw  you, 
playing  Jack's  music.  I  did  not  admire  you  for  your 
performance,  nor  for  the  applause  you  gained.  There 
are  little  things  that  an  artist  sees,  Aurelie,  that  sur- 
pass brilliant  fingering  of  the  keyboard.  I  cannot 
describe  them ;  they  came  home  to  me  as  you  appeared 
on  the  platform;  as  you  slipped  quietly  into  your 
place;  as  you  replied  to  Manlius's  enquiring  gesture 
by  a  look — it  was  not  even  a  nod,  and  yet  it  reassured 
him  instantly.  When  the  music  commenced  you 
became  dumb  to  me,  though  to  the  audience  you 
began  to  speak.  I  only  enjoyed  that  lovely  strain  in 
the  middle  of  the  fantasia,  which  by  Jack's  own  con- 
fession, owed  all  its  eloquence  to  you  alone.  When 
Mr.  Phipson  brought  us  under  the  orchestra  and 
introduced  us  to  you,  I  hardly  had  a  word  to  say ;  but 
I  did  not  lose  a  tone  or  a  movement  of  yours.  You 
were  a  stranger,  ignorant  of  my  language,  a  privileged 
person  in  a  place  where  I  was  only  present  on 
sufferance.  For  all  I  knew,  you  might  have  been 
married.  Yet  I  felt  that  there  was  some  tie  between 
us  that  far  transcended  my  friendship  with  Miss 
Sutherland,  though  she  was  bound  to  me  by  her 
relationship  to  my  old  school  friend,  and  by  every 
coincidence  of  taste,  culture,  and  position  that  can 
exist  between  man  and  woman.  I  knew  at  once  that 
I  loved  you,  and  had  never  loved  her.     Had  I  met 


2o8  Love  Among  the  Artists 

her  as  I  met  you,  do  you  think  I  would  have  troubled 
Mr.  Phipson  to  introduce  me  to  her?  My  jealousy  of 
Jack  vanished:  I  was  content  that  he  should  be  your 
composer,  if  I  might  be  your  friend.  Mary's  attach- 
ment to  him  now  became  the  source  of  my  greatest 
happiness.  His  music  and  your  playing  were  the 
attractions  on  which  all  the  concerts  relied.  Jack  went 
to  these  concerts:  Mary  went  with  Jack:  I  followed 
Mary.  We  always  had  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
you,  thanks  to  my  rival.  It  was  he  who  encouraged 
Mary  to  call  on  you.  It  is  to  him  that  I  owe  my  freedom 
from  any  serious  obligation  in  respect  of  my  long 
engagement;  and  hence  it  is  through  him  also  that  I 
dare  to  come  here  and  beg  you  to  be  my  wife.  Aurelie : 
I  passed  the  whole  of  yesterday  questioning  myself  as 
to  the  true  story  of  my  engagement,  in  order  that  I 
might  confess  it  to  you  with  the  most  exact  fidelity; 
and  I  believe  I  have  told  you  the  truth ;  but  I  could 
devise  no  speech  that  can  convey  to  you  what  I  feel 
towards  you.  Love  does  not  describe  it:  it  is  some- 
thing new — something  altogether  extraordinary.  There 
is  a  new  sense — a  new  force,  born  in  me.  There 
are  no  words  for  it  in  any  language:  I  could  not  tell 
you  in  my  own.     It " 

"I  understand  you  very  well.  Your  engagement 
with  Miss  S-Sutherland" — she  always  pronounced  this 
name  with  difficulty — "is  not  yet  broken  off?" 

"Not  explicitly.      But  you  need " 

"Hear  me,  Monsieur  Herbert.  I  will  not  come 
between  her  and  her  lover.  But  if  you  can  affirm  on 
your  honor  as  an  English  gentleman  that  she  no 
longer  loves  you,  go  and  obtain  an  assurance  from 
her  that  it  is  so." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  209 

•'And  then?" 

"And  then — Come  back  to  me;  and  we  shall  see. 
But  I  do  not  think  she  will  release  you." 

"She  will.  Would  I  have  spoken  to  you  if  I  had 
any  doubts  left?  For,  if  she  holds  me  to  my  word,  I 
am,  as  you  say,  an  English  gentleman,  and  must  keep 
it.      But  she  will  not." 

"You  will  nevertheless  go  to  her,  and  renew  your 
offer." 

"Do  you  mean  my  offer  to  you — or  to  her?" 

"My  God!  he  does  not  understand!  Listen  to  me, 
Monsieur  Herbert."  Here  Aurelie  again  resorted  to 
the  English  tongue.  "You  must  go  to  her  and  say, 
'Marie:  I  come  to  fulfil  my  engagement.'  If  she 
reply,  'No,  Monsieur  Adrian,  I  no  longer  wish  it,'  then 
— then,  as  I  have  said,  we  shall  see.  But  if  she  say 
'yes,'  then  you  must  never  any  more  come  back." 

"But " 

"No,  no,  no,"  murmured  Aurelie,  turning  away 
her  head.     "It  must  be  exactly  as  I  have  said." 

"I  will  undertake  to  learn  her  true  mind,  Aurelie, 
and  to  abide  by  it.  That  I  promise.  But  were  I  to 
follow  your  instructions  literally,  she  too  would  hold 
herself  bound  by  her  word,  and  would  say  'yes,'  in 
spite  of  her  heart.  We  should  sacrifice  each  other  and 
ourselves  to  a  false  sense  of  honor."  Aurelie  twisted 
a  button  of  her  chair,  and  shook  her  head,  uncon- 
vinced, "Aurdlie,"  he  added  gravely:  "are  you 
anxious  to  see  her  accept  me?  If  so,  it  would  be 
kinder  to  tell  me  so  at  once.  Would  you  be  so  cruel 
as  to  involve  me  in  an  unhappy  marriage  merely  to 
escape  the  unpleasantness  of  uttering  a  downright 
refusal?" 


2IO  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Ah!"  she  said,  raising  her  head  again,  but  still  not 
looking  at  him,  "I  will  not  answer  you.  You  seek  to 
entrap  me — you  ask  too  much."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
"Have  I  not  told  you  that  if  she  releases  you,  you 
may  return  here?" 

"And  I  may  infer  from  that — — ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 
"And  they  say  these  Englishmen  think  much  of  them- 
selves! You  will  not  believe  it  possible  that  a  woman 
should  care  for  you!  He  hesitated  even  yet,  until 
she  made  a  sudden  movement  towards  the  door,  when 
he  seized  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  She  drew  it  away 
quickly ;  checked  him  easily  by  begging  him  to  excuse 
her ;  bowed ;  and  left  the  room. 

He  went  out  elated,  and  had  walked  as  far  as  Port- 
land Place  before  he  began  to  consider  what  he  should 
say  for  himself  at  Cavendish  Square,  where  Mary  was 
staying  with  Mrs.  Phipson.  At  Fitzroy  Square  he  had 
been  helped  by  the  necessity  of  speaking  French,  in 
which  language  he  had  found  it  natural  and  easy  to  say 
many  things  which  in  English  would  have  sounded 
extravagant  to  him.  He  had  kissed  Aur^lie's  hand, 
as  it  were,  in  French.  To  kiss  Mary's  hand  would,  he 
felt,  be  a  ridiculous  ceremony,  unworthy  of  a  civilized 
Englishman.  A  proposal  to  jilt  her,  which  was  the 
substance  of  his  business  with  her  now,  was  not  easy 
to  frame  acceptably  in  any  language. 

When  he  reached  the  house  he  found  her  with  her 
hat  on  and  a  workbag  in  her  hand. 

"I  am  waiting  for  Miss  Cairns,"  she  said,  "She  is 
coming  with  me  on  an  expedition.     Guess  what  it  is." 

"I  cannot.  I  did  not  know  that  Miss  Cairns  was  in 
town." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  2 1 1 

"We  have  decided  that  the  condition  of  Mr.  Jack's 
wardrobe  is  no  longer  tolerable.  He  is  away  at 
Birmingham  to-day;  and  we  are  going  to  make  a 
descent  on  his  lodgings  with  a  store  of  buttons  and 
darning  cotton,  and  a  bottle  of  benzine.  We  shall 
make  his  garments  respectable,  and  he  will  be  none 
the  wiser.  Now,  Adrian,  do  not  look  serious.  You 
are  worse  than  an  old  woman  on  questions  of 
propriety." 

"It  is  a  matter  of  taste,"  said  Herbert,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  "Is  your  expedition  too  important  to  be 
postponed  for  half  an  hour?  I  want  to  speak  to  you 
rather  particularly." 

"If  you  wish,"  said  Mary  slowly,  her  face  lengthen- 
ing a  little.  She  was  in  the  humor  to  sally  out  and 
play  a  prank  on  Jack,  not  to  sit  down  and  be  serious 
with  Herbert. 

"It  is  possible,"  he  said,  noticing  this  with  some 
mortification,  though  it  strung  him  up  a  little,  too, 
"that  when  you  have  heard  what  I  have  to  say,  you 
will  go  on  your  expedition  with  a  lighter  heart. 
Nevertheless,  I  am  sorry  to  detain  you." 

"You  need  not  apologize,"  she  said,  irritated.  "I 
am  quite  willing  to  wait,  Adrian.  What  is  the 
matter?" 

"Are  you  quite  sure  we  shall  not  be  disturbed  here, 
even  by  Miss  Cairns?" 

"If  it  is  so  particular  as  that,  we  had  better  go  out 
into  the  Square.  I  cannot  very  well  barricade  myself 
in  Mrs.  Phipson'  drawing  room.  There  is  hardly  any- 
body in  the  Square  at  this  hour. '  * 

"Very  well,"  said  Herbert,  trying  to  repress  a 
sensation    of    annoyance    which    he    also    began    to 


2  12  Love  Among  the  Artists 

experience.  They  left  the  house  together  in  silence; 
opened  the  gate  of  the  circular  enclosure  which 
occupies  the  centre  of  Cavendish  Square;  and  found 
it  deserted,  except  by  themselves,  and  a  few  children. 
Mary  walked  beside  him  with  knitted  brows,  waiting 
for  him  to  begin. 

"Mary:  if  I  were  now  asking  you  for  the  first  time 
the  question  I  put  to  you  that  day  when  we  rowed  on 
the  Serpentine,  would  you  give  me  the  same  answer?" 

She  stopped,  bewildered  by  this  unexpected 
challenge. 

"If  you  had  not  put  that  question  before  to  day, 
would  you  put  it  at  all?"  she  said,  walking  on  again. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,"  he  said,  angry  at  being 
parried,  "do  not  let  us  begin  to  argue.  I  did  not  mean 
to  reproach  you." 

Mary  thought  it  better  not  to  reply.  Her  temper 
was  so  far  under  control  that  she  could  suppress  the 
bitter  speeches  which  suggested  themselves  to  her; 
but  she  could  not  think  of  any  soft  answers,  and  so 
had  either  to  retort  or  be  silent. 

"I  have  noticed — or  at  least  I   fancy  so ,"  he 

said  quietly,  after  a  pause,  "that  our  engagement  has 
not  been  so  pleasant  a  topic  between  us  of  late  as  it 
once  was." 

"I  am  perfectly  ready  to  fulfil  it,"  said  Mary 
steadfastly. 

"So  am  I,"  said  Adrian  in  the  same  tone.  Another 
interval  of  silence  ensued. 

"The  question  is,"  he  said  then,  "whether  you  are 
willing  as  well  as  ready.  You  would  do  me  a  cruel 
injustice  if,  having  promised  me  your  heart,  you  were 
to  redeem  that  promise  with  your  hand  alone." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  213 

"What  have  you  to  complain  of,  Adrian?  I  know 
that  you  are  sensitive;  but  I  have  taken  such  pains 
to  avoid  giving  you  the  least  uneasiness  during  the 
last  two  years  that  I  do  not  think  you  can  reasonably 
reproach  me.  You  agreed  with  me  that  my  painting 
was  mere  waste  of  time,  and  that  I  was  right  to  give  it 
up." 

"Since  you  no  longer  cared  for  it." 

"I  did  not  know  that  you  felt  sore  about  it." 

"Nor  do  I,  Mary." 

"Then  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Nothing  is  the  matter,  if  you  are  satisfied." 

"And  is  that  all  you  had  to  say  to  me,  Adrian?" 
This  with  an  attempt  at  gaiety. 

Adrian  mused  awhile.  "Mary,"  he  said:  "I  wish 
you  in  the  first  place  to  understand  that  I  am  not 
jealous  of  Mr.  Jack."  She  opened  her  eyes  widely, 
and  looked  at  him.  "But,"  he  continued,  "I  never 
was  so  happy  with  you  as  when  we  were  merely 
friends.  Since  that  time,  I  have  become  your  pro- 
fessed lover;  and  Mr.  Jack  has  succeeded  to  the 
friendship  which — without  in  the  least  intending  it — I 
left  vacant.  I  would  willingly  change  places  with  him 
now." 

"You  ask  me  to  break  off  the  engagement,  then," 
she  said,  half  eager,  half  cautious. 

"No.  I  merely  feel  bound  to  offer  to  release  you 
if  you  desire  it. ' ' 

"I  am  ready  to  keep  my  promise,"  she  rejoined 
stubbornly. 

"So  you  say.  I  do  not  mean  that  you  will  not  keep 
your  word,  but  that  your  assurance  is  not  given  in  a 
manner  calculated  to  make  me  very  happy.     I  often 


214  Love  Among  the  Artists 

used  to  warn  you  that  you  thought  too  highly  of  me, 
Mary.  You  are  revenging  your  own  error  on  me 
now  by  letting  me  see  that  you  do  not  think  me 
worthy  of  the  sacrifice  you  feel  bound  to  make  for 
me." 

"I  never  spoke  of  it  as  a  sacrifice,"  said  Mary, 
turning  red.  "I  took  particular  care — I  mean  that 
you  are  groundlessly  jealous  of  Mr.  Jack.  If  our 
engagement  is  to  be  broken  off,  Adrian,  do  not  say 
that  I  broke  it.  * ' 

"I  do  not  think  that  /have  broken  it,  Mary,"  said 
Herbert,  also  reddening. 

"Then  I  suppose  it  holds  good,"  she  said,  A  long 
silence  followed  this.  They  walked  once  across  the 
grass,  and  half  way  back.  There  she  stopped,  and 
faced  him  bravely.  *  'Adrian, ' '  she  said :  *  'I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  have  been  fencing  unworthily  with  you. 
Will  you  release  me  from  the  engagement,  and  let  us 
be  friends  as  we  were  before?" 

"You  do  wish  it,  then,"  he  said,  startled. 

"I  do;  and  I  was  hoping  that  3''ou  would  propose  it 
yourself,  and  so  be  unable  to  reproach  me  with  going 
back  from  my  word.  That  was  mean;  and  I  came 
to  my  senses  during  that  last  turn  across  the  square. 
I  pledge  you  my  word  that  I  only  desire  to  be  free  to 
remain  unmarried.  It  has  nothing  to  do  with  Mr. 
Jack  or  with  any  other  man.  It  is  only  that  I  should 
not  be  a  good  wife  to  you.  I  do  not  think  I  will 
marry  at  all.     You  are  far  too  good  for  me,  Adrian." 

Herbert,  ashamed  of  himself,  stood  looking  at  her, 
unable  to  reply. 

"I  know  I  should  have  told  you  this  frankly  at  first," 
she  continued  anxiously.     "But  my  want  of  straight- 


Love  Among  the  Artists  215 

forwardness  only  shows  that  I  am  not  what  you  thought 
I  was.  I  should  be  a  perpetual  disappointment  to  you 
if   you   married    me.     I  hope  I    have  not  been    too 

sudden.     I  thought — that  is,    I  fancied Well,    I 

have  been  thinking  a  little  about  Mdlle.  Szczympliga. 
If  you  remain  friends  with  her,  you  will  soon  feel  that 
I  am  no  great  loss." 

"I  hope  it  is  not  on  her  account  that " 

*'No,  no.  It  is  solely  for  the  reason  I  have  given. 
We  are  not  a  bit  suited  to  one  another.  I  assure  you 
that  I  have  no  other  motive.  Are  you  certain  that 
you  believe  me,  Adrian?  If  you  suspect  me  of  want- 
ing to  make  way  for  another  attachment,  or  of  being 
merely  huffed  and  jealous,  you  must  think  very  ill  of 
me. ' ' 

Herbert's  old  admiration  of  her  stirred  within  him, 
intensified  by  the  remorse  which  he  felt  for  having 
himself  acted  as  she  was  blaming  herself  for  acting. 
He  was  annoyed  too  because  now  that  circumstances 
had  tested  them  equally,  she  had  done  the  right  thing 
and  he  the  wrong  thing.  He  had  always  been 
sincere  in  his  protests  that  she  thought  too  highly  of 
him ;  but  he  had  never  expected  to  come  out  of  any 
trial  meanly  in  comparison  with  her.  He  thought  of 
Aur61ie  with  a  sudden  dread  that  perhaps  she  saw 
nothing  more  in  him  than  this  situation  had  brought 
out.  But  he  maintained,  by  habit,  all  his  old  air  of 
thoughtful  superiority  as  he  took  up  the  conversation. 

"Mary,"  he  said,  earnestly:  "I  have  never  thought 
more  highly  of  you  than  I  do  at  this  moment.  But 
whatever  you  feel  to  be  the  right  course  for  us  is  the 
right  course.  I  have  not  been  quite  unprepared  for 
this ;  and  since  it  will  make  you  happy,  I  am  content 


2i6  Love  Among  the  Artists 

to  lose  you  as  a  wife,  provided  T  do  not  lose  you  as  a 
friend. ' ' 

"I  shall  always  be  proud  to  be  your  friend,"  she 
said,  offering  him  her  hand.  He  took  it,  feeling  quite 
noble  again.  "Now  we  are  both  free,"  she  continued; 
"and  I  can  wish  for  your  happiness  without  feeling 
heavily  responsible  for  it.  And,  Adrian:  when  we 
were  engaged,  you  gave  me  some  presents  and  wrote 
me  some  letters.     May  I  keep  them?" 

"I  shall  be  very  much  hurt  if  you  return  them; 
though  I  suppose  you  have  a  right  to  do  so  if  you 
wish." 

"I  will  keep  them  then."  They  clasped  hands  once 
more  before  she  resumed  in  her  ordinary  tone,  "I 
wonder  has  Miss  Cairns  been  waiting  for  me  all  this 
time." 

On  the  way  back  to  the  house  they  chatted  busily 
on  indifferent  matters.  The  servant  who  opened  the 
door  informed  them  that  Miss  Cairns  was  within. 
Mary  entered ;  but  Herbert  did  not  follow. 

"If  you  do  not  mind,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  had 
rather  not  go  in, ' '  This  seemed  natural  after  what 
had  passed.     She  smiled,  and  bade  him  goodbye. 

"Goodbye,  Mary,"  he  said.  As  the  door  closed  on 
her,  he  turned  towards  Fitzroy  Square;  but  a  feeling 
of  being  ill  and  out  of  conceit  with  himself  made  him 
turn  back  to  a  restaurant  in  Oxford  Street,  where  he 
had  a  chop  and  a  glass  of  wine.  After  this,  his  ardor 
suddenly  revived;  and  he  hurried  towards  Aurdlie's 
residence  by  way  of  Wells  Street.  He  soon  lost  his 
way  in  the  labyrinth  between  Great  Portland  and 
Cleveland  Streets,  and  at  last  emerged  at  Portland 
Road  railway  station.     Knowing  the  way  thence,  he 


Love  Among  the  Artists  217 

started  afresh  for  Fitzroy  Square.  Before  he  had 
gone  many  steps  he  was  arrested  by  his  mother's 
voice  calling  him.  She  was  coming  from  the  station, 
and  overtook  him  in  the  Euston  Road,  at  the  corner 
of  Southampton  Street. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing  in  this  quarter  of  the 
town?"  he  said,  stopping,  and  trying  to  conceal  how 
unwelcome  the  interruption  was. 

"That  is  a  question  which  you  have  no  right 
to  ask,  Adrian.  People  who  have  'Where  are  you 
going?'  and  'What  are  you  doing?'  always  in  their 
mouths  are  social  and  domestic  nuisances,  as  I  have 
often  told  you.  However,  I  am  going  to  buy  some 
curtains  in  Tottenham  Court  Road.  Since  you 
have  set  the  example,  may  I  now  ask  where  you  are 
going?" 

"I?  I  am  not  going  anywhere  in  particular  just  at 
present." 

' '  I  only  asked  because  you  stopped  as  if  you  wished 
to  turn  down  here.     Do  not  let  us  stand  in  the  street. " 

She  went  on;  and  he  accompanied  her.  Presently 
she  said: 

"Have  you  any  news?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  after  pretending  to  consider.  "I 
think  not.     Why?" 

"I  met  Mary  Sutherland  with  Miss  Cairns  in  High 
Street  as  I  was  coming  to  the  train ;  and  she  said  that 
you  had  something  to  tell  me  about  her. ' ' 

"It  is  only  that  our  engagement  is  broken  off " 

"Adrian!"  she  exclaimed,  stopping  so  suddenly  that 
a  man  walking  behind  them  stumbled  against  her. 

"Beg  pwor'n,  mum,"  said  he,  civilly,  as  he  passed 
on. 


2i8  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Pray  take  care,  mother,"  remonstrated  Herbert 
"Come  on." 

"Do  not  be  impatient,  Adrian.  My  dress  is  torn. 
I  believe  English  workmen  are  the  rudest  class  in  the 
world.  Will  you  hold  my  umbrella  for  one  moment, 
pleaseV 

Adrian  took  the  umbrella,  and  waited  chafing. 
When  they  started  again,  Mrs.  Herbert  walked 
quickly,  taking  short  steps. 

"It  is  thoroughly  disheartening,"  she  said,  "to  find 
that  you  have  undone  the  only  sensible  thing  you  ever 
did  in  your  life.  I  thought  your  news  would  be  that 
you  had  arranged  for  the  wedding.  I  think  you  had 
better  see  Mary  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  make  up  your 
foolish  quarrel.     She  is  not  a  girl  to  be  trifled  with." 

"Everything  of  that  kind  is  at  an  end  between  Mary 
and  me.  There  is  no  quarrel.  The  affair  is  broken 
off  finally — completely — whether  it  pleases  you  or 
not." 

"Very  well,  Adrian.  There  is  no  occasion  for  you 
to  be  angry.  I  am  content,  if  you  are.  I  merely  say 
that  you  have  done  a  very  foolish  thing." 

"You  do  not  know  what  I  have  done.     You  know 

absolutely "     He  checked  himself  and  walked  on 

in  silence. 

"Adrian,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  with  dignity:  "you 
are  going  back  to  your  childish  habits,  I  think.  You 
are  in  a  rage. ' ' 

"If  I  am,"  he  replied  bitterly,  "you  are  the  only 
person  alive  who  takes  any  pleasure  in  putting  me 
into  one.     I  know  that  you  consider  me  a  fool. ' ' 

"I  do  not  consider  you  a  fool." 

"At  any  rate,  mother,  you  have  such  an  opinion  of 


Love  Among  the  Artists  :ii9 

me,  that  I  would  rather  discuss  my  private  affairs 
with  any  stranger  than  with  you.  Where  do  you 
intend  to  buy  the  curtains?" 

Mrs.  Herbert  did  not  help  him  to  change  the  sub- 
ject. She  remained  silent  for  some  time  to  compose 
herself;  for  Adrian's  remark  had  hurt  her. 

"I  hope,"  she  said  at  last,  "that  these  musical 
people  have  not  brought  about  this  quarrel — or  breach, 
or  whatever  it  is. ' ' 

"Who  are  'these  musical  people'?" 

"Mr.  Jack." 

"He  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  it.  It  was 
Mary  who  proposed  to  break  the  engagement:  not  I." 

"Mary!  Oh!  Well,  it  is  your  own  fault:  you 
should  have  married  her  long  ago.  But  why  should 
she  object  now  more  than  another  time?  Has  Made- 
moiselle— the  pianist — anything  to  do  with  it?" 

"With  Mary's  withdrawing?  No.  How  could  it 
possibly  concern  Mademoiselle  Szczympliga — if  it  is  of 
her  that  you  are  speaking?" 

"It  is  of  her  that  I  am  speaking.  I  see  she  has 
taught  you  the  balked  sneeze  with  which  her  name 
begins.  I  call  her  Stchimpleetza,  not  having  had  the 
advantage  of  her  tuition.     Where  does  she  live?" 

Herbert  felt  that  he  was  caught,  and  frowned. 
"She  lives  in  Fitzroy  Square,"  he  said  shortly. 

"A-ah!  Indeed!"  said  Mrs.  Herbert.  Then  she 
added  sarcastically,  "Do  you  happen  to  know  that  we 
are  within  a  minute's  walk  of  Fitzroy  Square?" 

"I  know  it  perfectly  well.  I  am  going  there — to 
see  her. ' ' 

"Adrian,"  said  his  mother  quickly,  changing  hei 
tone:  "you  don't  mean  anything  serious,  I  hope?" 


220  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"You  do  not  hope  that  I  am  trifling  with  her,  do 
you,  mother?" 

Mrs.  Herbert  looked  at  him,  startled.  "Do  you 
mean  to  say,  Adrian,  that  you  have  thrown  Mary  over 
because " 

"Because  it's  well  to  be  off  with  the  old  love,  before 
you  are  on  with  the  new?  You  may  put  that  con- 
struction on  it  if  you  like,  although  I  have  told  you 
that  it  was  Mary,  and  not  I,  who  broke  the  engage- 
ment. I  had  better  tell  you  the  whole  truth  now,  to 
avoid  embittering  our  next  meeting  with  useless  com- 
plaints. I  am  going  to  ask  Mademoiselle  Szczympliga 
to  be  my  wife. ' ' 

"You  foolish  boy!  She  will  not  acce-pt you.  She  is 
making  a  fortune,  and  does  not  need  to  marry. ' ' 

"She  may  not  need  to.  She  wishes  to:  that  is 
enough  for  me.  She  knows  my  mind.  I  am  not 
going  to  change  it." 

"I  suppose  not.  I  know  of  old  your  obstinacy  when 
you  are  bent  on  ruining  yourself.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  you  will  marry  her,  particularly  as  she  is  not 
exactly  the  sort  of  person  I  should  choose  for  a 
daughter-in-law.     Will  you  expect  me  to  receive  her?" 

"I  shall  trouble  your  house  no  more  when  I  am 
married  than  I  have  done  as  a  bachelor." 

She  shrank  for  a  moment,  taken  by  surprise  by  this 
blow ;  but  she  did  not  retort.  They  presently  stopped 
before  the  shop  she  wished  to  visit ;  and  as  they  stood 
together  near  the  entry,  she  made  an  effort  to  speak 
kindly,  and  even  put  her  hand  caressingly  on  his  arm. 
"Adrian:  do  not  be  so  headstrong.  Just  wait  a  little. 
I  do  not  say  'give  her  up.'  But  wait  a  little  longer. 
For  my  sake. ' ' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  221 

Adrian  bent  his  brows  and  collected  all  his  hardness 
to  resist  this  appeal.  "Mother,"  he  said:  "I  never 
had  a  cherished  project  yet  that  you  did  not  seek  to 
defeat  by  sarcasms,  by  threats,  and  failing  those,  by 
cajolery. "  Mrs.  Herbert  quickly  took  her  hand  away, 
and  drew  back.  "And  it  has  always  turned  out  that 
I  was  right  and  that  you  were  wrong.  You  would  not 
allow  that  I  could  ever  be  a  painter;  and  yet  I  am 
now  able  to  marry  without  your  assistance,  by  my 
success  as  a  painter.  I  took  one  step  which  gained 
your  approval — my  engagement  to  Mary.  Had  I 
married  her,  I  should  be  this  day  a  wretched  man. 
Now  that  I  have  the  happiness  to  be  loved  by  a  lady 
whom  all  Europe  admires,  you  would  have  me  repudi- 
ate her,  for  no  other  reason  that  I  can  see  under 
Heaven  than  that  you  make  it  your  fixed  principle  to 
thwart  me  in  everything.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell 
you  plainly  that  I  have  come  to  look  upon  your 
influence  as  opposed  to  my  happiness.  It  has  been  at 
the  end  of  my  tongue  often ;  and  you  have  forced  me 
to  let  it  slip  at  last." 

Mrs.  Herbert  listened  attentively  during  this  speech 
and  for  some  seconds  afterwards.  Then  she  roused 
herself ;  made  a  gesture  of  acquiescence  without  open- 
ing her  lips ;  and  went  into  the  shop,  leaving  him  still 
angry,  yet  in  doubt  as  to  whether  he  had  spoken 
wisely.  But  the  interview  had  excited  him ;  and  from 
it  and  all  other  goading  thoughts  he  turned  to 
anticipations  of  his  reception  by  Aur^lie.  Short 
though  the  distance  was  he  drove  to  her  in  a  hansom. 

"Can  I  see  Miss  Szczympliga  again?"  he  said  to  the 
servant,  who  now  received  him  with  interest,  guessing 
that  he  came  courting. 


222  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"She's  in  the  drawing-room,  sir.  You  may  go 
in." 

He  went  in  and  foimd  Aur^lie  standing  near  the 
window  in  a  black  silk  dress,  which  she  had  put  on 
since  his  visit  in  the  morning. 

"Mr.  'Erberts,  mum;"  said  the  servant,  lingering 
at  the  door  to  witness  their  meeting.  Aurelie  turned ; 
made  him  a  stately  bow;  sat  down;  and  by  a  gesture, 
invited  him  to  sit  also.  He  obeyed;  but  when  the 
door  was  shut,  he  got  up  and  approached  her. 

"Aurelie:  she  begged  me  to  break  the  engagement, 
although,  as  you  bade  me,  I  offered  to  fulfil  it.  I  am 
perfectly  free — only  for  the  instant,  I  hope."  She 
rose  gravely.  "Mademoiselle  Szczympliga, "  he  added, 
changing  his  familiarly  eager  manner  to  one  of 
earnest  politeness,  "will  you  do  me  the  honor  to 
become  my  wife?" 

"With  pleasure,  Monsieur  Herbert,  if  my  mother 
approves. '  * 

He  was  not  sure  what  he  ought  to  do  next.  After 
a  moment's  hesitation,  he  stooped  and  kissed  her 
hand.  Catching  a  roguish  expression  in  her  face  as 
he  looked  up,  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed 
her  repeatedly. 

"Enough,  Monsieur,"  she  said,  laughing  and  dis- 
engaging herself.  He  then  sat  down,  thinking  that 
she  had  behaved  with  admirable  grace,  and  he  him- 
self with  becoming  audacity.  "I  thought  you  would 
expect  me  to  be  very  cold  and  ceremonious,"  she 
said,  resuming  her  seat  composedly.  "In  England 
one  must  always  be  solemn,  I  said  to  myself.  But 
indeed  you  have  as  little  self-command  as  anyone. 
Besides,  you  have  not  yet  spoken  to  my  mother  " 


Love  Among  the  Artists  223 

"You  do  not  anticipate  any  objection  from  her,  I 
hope." 

"How  do  I  know?  And  your  parents,  what  of  them? 
I  have  seen  your  mother:  she  is  like  a  great  lady.  It 
is  only  in  England  that  such  handsome  mothers  are  to 
be  seen.     She  is  widowed,  is  she  not?" 

"Yes.  I  have  no  father.  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had 
no  mother  either." 

"Oh,  Monsieur  Herbert!  You  are  very  wrong  to 
say  so.     And  such  a  gracious  lady,  too!     Fie!" 

"Aurdlie:  I  am  not  jesting.  Can  you  not  under- 
stand that  a  mother  and  son  may  be  so  different  in 
their  dispositions  that  neither  can  sympathize  with  the 
other?  It  is  my  great  misfortune  to  be  such  a  son.  I 
have  found  sympathetic  friendship,  encouragement, 
respect,  faith  in  my  abilities  and  love" — here  he 
slipped  his  arm  about  her  waist;  and  she  murmured  a 
remonstrance — "from  strangers  upon  whom  I  had  no 
claim.  In  my  mother  I  found  none  of  them:  she  felt 
nothing  for  me  but  a  contemptuous  fondness  which  I 
did  not  care  to  accept.  She  is  a  clever  woman, 
impatient  of  sentiment,  and  fond  of  her  own  way.  My 
father,  like  myself,  was  too  diffident  to  push  himself 
arrogantly  through  the  world ;  and  she  despised  him 
for  it,  thinking  him  a  fool.  When  she  saw  that  I  was 
like  him,  she  concluded  that  I,  too,  was  a  fool,  and 
that  she  must  arrange  my  life  for  me  in  some  easy, 
lucrative,  genteel,  brainless,  conventional  way.  I 
hardly  ever  dared  to  express  the  most  modest  aspira- 
tion, or  assert  the  most  ordinary  claims  to  respect,  for 
fear  of  exciting  her  quiet  ridicule.  She  did  not  know 
how  much  her  indifference  tortured  me,  because  she 
had  no  idea  of  any  keener  sensitiveness  than  her  own. 


224  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Everybody  commits  follies  from  youth  and  want  of 
experience ;  and  I  hope  most  people  humor  and  spare 
such  follies  as  tenderly  as  they  can.  My  mother  did 
not  even  laugh  at  them.  She  saw  through  them  and 
stamped  them  out  with  open  contempt.  She  taught 
me  to  do  without  her  consideration;  and  I  learned  the 
lesson.  My  friends  will  tell  you  that  I  am  a  bad  son 
— never  that  she  is  a  bad  mother,  or  rather  no  mother. 
She  has  the  power  of  bringing  out  everything  that  is 
hasty  and  disagreeable  in  my  nature  by  her  presence 
alone.  This  is  why  I  wish  I  were  wholly  an  orphan, 
and  why  I  ask  you,  who  are  more  to  me  than  all  the 
world  besides,  to  judge  me  by  what  you  see  of  me,  and 
not  by  the  reports  you  may  hear  of  my  behavior 
towards  my  own  people." 

"Oh,  it  is  frightful.  My  God!  To  hate  your 
mother!  If  you  do  not  love  her,  how  will  you  love 
your  wife?" 

"With  all  the  love  my  mother  rejected,  added  to  what 
you  have  yourself  inspired.  But  I  am  glad  you  are  sur- 
prised.    You  must  be  very  fond  of  your  own  mother. ' ' 

"That  is  so  different,"  said  Aur^lie  with  a  shrug. 
"Mother  and  son  is  a  sacred  relation.  Mothers  and 
daughters  are  fond  of  one  another  in  an  ordinary  way 
as  a  matter  of  course.  You  must  ask  her  pardon. 
Suppose  she  should  curse  you. ' ' 

"Parental  curses  are  out  of  fashion  in  England," 
said  Adrian,  amused,  and  yet  a  little  vexed.  "You 
will  understand  us  better  after  a  little  while.  Let  us 
drop  the  subject  of  my  old  grievances.  Are  you  fond 
of  pictures,  Aur^lie?" 

"You  are  for  ever  asking  me  that.  Yes,  I  am  very 
fond  of  some  pictures.     I  have  seen  very  few. ' ' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  225 

"But  you  have  been  in  Dresden,  in  Munich,  in 
Paris?" 

"Yes.  But  I  was  playing  everywhere — I  had  not  a 
moment  to  myself.  I  intended  to  go  to  the  gallery  in 
Dresden ;  but  I  had  to  put  it  off.  Are  there  any  good 
pictures  at  Munich?" 

"Have  you  not  seen  them?" 

"No.  I  did  not  know  of  them.  When  I  was  in 
Paris,  I  went  one  day  to  the  Louvre ;  but  I  could  only 
stay  half  an  hour;  and  I  did  not  see  much.  I  used  to 
be  able  to  draw  very  well.     Is  it  hard  to  paint?" 

"It  is  the  most  difficult  art  in  the  world,  Aur^lie." 

"You  are  laughing  at  me.  Why,  there  are  not  a 
dozen  players — real  players — in  Europe;  and  every 
city  is  full  of  painters." 

''Real  ipainters,  Aur^lie?" 

"Ah!  perhaps  not.  I  suppose  there  are  second-rate 
painters,  just  like  second-rate  players.  Is  it  not  so, 
Me — Meestare  Adrian?" 

"You  must  not  call  me  that,  Aur^lie.  People  who 
like  each  other  never  say  'Mister.'  You  say  you  used 
to  draw?" 

"Yes.  Soldiers,  and  horses,  and  people  whom  we 
knew.     Shall  I  draw  you?" 

"By  all  means.     How  shall  I  sit?     Profile?" 

"You  need  not  sit  for  me.  I  am  not  going  to  copy 
you :  I  am  only  going  to  make  a  little  likeness.  I  can 
draw  dark  men  as  well  as  fair.     You  shall  see." 

She  took  a  piece  of  music,  and  set  to  work  with  a 
pencil  on  the  margin.  In  a  minute  she  shewed  him 
two  scratchy  sketches,  vilely  drawn,  but  amusingly 
like  Herbert  and  Jack. 

"I  can  just  recognize  myself,"  he  said,  examining 


226  Love  Among  the  Artists 

them;  "but  that  one  of  Jack  is  capital.  Ha!  ha!" 
Then  he  added  sadly,  ''Professed  painter  as  I  am,  I 
could  not  do  that.  Portraiture  is  my  weak  point.  But 
I  would  not  have  left  Dresden  without  seeing  the 
Madonna  di  San  Sisto. " 

"Bah!  Looking  at  pictures  cannot  make  me  draw 
well,  no  more  than  listening  to  others  could  make  me 
play.  But  indeed  I  would  have  gone  to  the  gallery 
had  I  foreseen  that  I  should  meet  you.  My  God !  do 
not  kiss  me  so  suddenly.  It  is  droll  to  think  of  how 
punctilious  and  funereal  you  were  the  other  day ;  and 
now  you  have  less  manners  than  a  Cossack.  Are  you 
easily  offended,  Monsieur  Adrian?" 

"I  hope  not,"  he  replied,  taken  aback  by  a  change 
in  her  manner  as  she  asked  the  question.  "If  you 
mean  easily  offended  by  you,  certainly  not.  Easily 
hurt  or  easily  pleased,  yes.  But  not  offended,  my 
darling. ' ' 

"Mai — maida — what  is  that  that  you  said  in 
English?" 

' '  Nothing.  You  can  look  for  it  in  the  dictionary  when 
I  am  gone.     But  what  am  I  to  be  offended  at?" 

"Only  this.     I  want  you  to  go  away." 

"So  soon!" 

"Yes.  I  have  not  said  anything  to  my  mother 
yet.  She  will  question  me  the  moment  she  sees  me 
in  this  dress.  You  must  not  be  here  then.  To-morrow 
you  will  call  on  her  at  four  o'clock;  and  all  will  be 
well.     Now  go.     I  expect  her  every  moment." 

"May  I  not  see  you  before  to-morrow  afternoon?" 

"Why  should  you?  I  go  to-night  to  play  at  the 
house  of  a  great  dame,  Lady  Geraldine  Porter,  who 
is  the  daughter  of  a  nobleman    and    the  wife  of    a 


Love  Among  the  Artists  227 

baronet.  My  mother  loves  to  be  among  such  people. 
She  will  tell  you  all  about  our  ancestry  to-morrow." 

"Aurelie:  I  shall  meet  you  there.  Lady  Geraldine 
is  mother's  cousin  and  close  friend,  on  which 
account  I  have  not  sought  much  after  her.  But  she 
told  me  once  that  she  would  waste  no  more  invitations 
on  me — I  never  accepted  them — but  that  I  was  wel- 
come to  come  when  I  pleased.  I  shall  please  to- 
night, Aurelie.     Hurrah!" 

"Heaven!  you  are  all  fire  and  flame  in  a  moment. 
You  will  remember  that  at  Lady  Geraldine's  we  are  to 
be  as  we  were  before  to-day.  You  will  behave 
yourself?" 

**0f  course." 

"Now  go,  I  beg  of  you.  If  you  delay,  you  will — 
what  is  the  matter  now?" 

"It  has  just  come  into  my  mind  that  my  mother  may 

be  at  Lady  Geraldine's.     If  so,  would  you  mind 

In  short,  do  not  let  Madame  Szczympliga  speak  to  her 
of  our  engagement.  Of  course  you  will  say  nothing 
yourself. ' ' 

"Not  if  you  do  not  wish  me  to,"  said  Aurelie,  draw- 
ing back  a  step. 

"You  see,  my  darling,  as  I  have  not  yet  spoken  to 
your  mother,  it  would  be  a  great  breach  of  etiquette 
for  you  or  Madame  to  pretend  to  know  my  intentions. 
That  is  nonsense,  of  course;  but  you  know  how  formal 
we  are  in  this  country. ' ' 

"Oh,  is  that  the  reason?  I  am  glad  you  told  me; 
and  I  shall  be  very  careful.  So  will  my  mother. 
Now  go  quickly.     Au  revoir.''^ 


CHAPTER   XII 

At  this  time,  Jack  was  richer  than  he  had  ever  been 
before.  His  works  were  performed  at  the  principal 
concerts:  he  gave  lessons  at  the  rate  of  fifteen  guineas 
a  dozen,  and  had  more  applications  for  lessons  at  that 
rate  than  he  had  time  to  accept :  publishers  tempted 
him  with  offers  of  blank  cheques  for  inane  drawing- 
room  ballads  with  easy  accompaniments.  Every  even- 
ing he  went  from  his  lodging  in  Church  Street  to  some 
public  entertainment  at  which  he  had  to  play  or  con- 
duct, or  to  the  house  of  some  lady  of  fashion  who 
considered  her  reception  incomplete  without  him ;  for 
•'society"  found  relief  and  excitement  in  the  eccentric 
and  often  rude  manner  of  the  Welsh  musician,  and 
recognized  his  authority  to  behave  as  he  pleased.  At 
such  receptions  he  received  fresh  invitations,  some  of 
which  he  flatly  declined.  Others  he  accepted,  pre- 
senting himself  duly,  except  when  he  forgot  the  invita- 
tion. When  he  did  forget,  and  was  reproached  by  the 
disappointed  hostess,  he  denied  all  knowledge  of  her 
entertainment,  and  said  that  had  he  been  asked  he 
should  have  come,  as  he  never  forgot  anything.  He 
made  no  calls,  left  no  cards,  and  paid  little  attention 
to  his  dress. 

One  afternoon  he  went  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Phipson, 
who  had  been  of  service  to  him  at  the  Antient 
Orpheus.  Among  the  guests  there  was  Lady  Geral- 
dine  Porter,  Mrs.  Herbert's  friend,  whom  Jack  did  not 

228 


Love  Among  the  Artists  229 

know.  She  was  a  lady  of  strong  common  sense, 
resolutely  intolerant  of  the  eccentricities  and  affecta- 
tions of  artists.  No  man  who  wore  a  velveteen  jacket 
and  long  hair  had  a  chance  of  an  introduction  to  or  an 
invitation  from  Lady  Geraldine.  These  people,  she 
said,  can  behave  themselves  properly  if  they  like.  We 
have  to  learn  manners  before  we  go  into  society:  let 
them  do  the  same,  since  they  are  so  clever.  As  to 
Jack,  he  was  her  pet  aversion.  Society,  in  her  opinion, 
had  one  clear  duty  to  Jack — to  boycott  him  until  he 
conformed  to  its  reasonable  usages.  And  she  set  an 
unavailing  example,  by  refusing  all  intercourse  with 
him  in  the  drawing-rooms  where  they  frequently 
found  themselves  together. 

When  the  inevitable  entreaty  from  Mrs.  Phipson 
brought  Jack  to  the  piano,  Lady  Geraldine  was  sitting 
close  behind  him  and  next  to  Mrs.  Herbert.  There 
was  a  buzz  of  conversation  going  on ;  and  he  struck  a 
few  chords  to  stop  it.  Those  who  affected  Jack-worship 
h'shed  at  the  talkers,  and  assumed  an  expression  of 
enthusiastic  expectation.  The  buzz  subsided,  but  did 
not  quite  cease.  Jack  waited  patiently,  thrumming 
the  keyboard.  Still  there  was  not  silence.  He  turned 
round,  and  saw  Lady  Geraldine  speaking  earnestly  to 
Mrs.  Herbert,  heedless  of  what  was  passing  in  the 
room.  He  waited  still,  with  his  body  twisted  towards 
her  and  his  right  hand  behind  him  on  the  keys,  until 
her  unconscious  breach  of  good  manners,  becoming 
generally  observed,  brought  about  an  awful  pause. 
Mrs.  Herbert  hastily  warned  her  by  a  stealthy 
twitch.  She  stopped;  looked  up;  took  in  the  situa- 
tion; and  regarded  Jack's  attitude  with  marked  dis- 
pleasure. 


230  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"You  mustn't  talk,"  he  said,  corrugating  his  nose 
"You  must  listen  to  me." 

Lady  Geraldine's  color  rose  slightly,  a  phenomenon 
which  no  one  present  had  ever  witnessed  before.  "I 
beg  your  pardon, "  she  said,  bowing.  Jack  appreciated 
the  dignity  of  her  tone  and  gesture.  He  nodded 
approvingly — to  her  disappointment,  for  she  had 
intended  to  abash  him — and,  turning  to  the  piano, 
gave  out  his  theme  in  the  apposite  form  of  a  stately 
minuet.  Upon  this  he  improvised  for  twenty-five 
minutes,  to  the  delight  of  the  few  genuine  amateurs 
present.  The  rest,  though  much  fatigued,  were  loud 
in  admiration  of  Jack's  genius;  and  many  of  them 
crowded  about  him  in  the  hope  of  inducing  him  to  give 
a  similar  performance  at  their  own  houses. 

"Oh,  how  I  adore  music!"  said  one  of  them  to  him 
later  on,  when  he  came  and  sat  by  her.  "If  I  were 
only  a  great  genius  like  you!"  Instead  of  replying  he 
looked  indignantly  at  her.  "I  really  do  not  see  why 
I  am  not  to  be  supposed  capable  of  appreciating  any- 
thing," she  continued,  protesting  against  his  expres- 
sion.    "I  am  very  fond  of  music." 

"Nobody  says  you  are  not,"  said  Jack.  "You  are 
fond  enough  of  music  when  it  walks  in  its  silver 
slippers — as  Mr.  By-ends  was  fond  of  religion." 

The  lady,  who  was  a  born  Irish  Protestant,  a  Roman 
Catholic  by  conversion,  a  sort  of  freethinker,  after  the 
fashionable  broad-church  manner,  by  habit,  by  con- 
viction nothing  at  all,  and  very  superstitious  by 
nature,  always  suspected  some  personal  application  in 
allusions  to  religion.  She  looked  askance  at  him,  and 
said  pettishly,  "I  wonder  you  condescend  to  converse 
with  me  at  all,  since  you  have  such  a  low  opinion  of  me. ' ' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  231 

"I  like  talking  to  you — except  when  you  go  into 
rhapsodies  over  music.     Do  you  know  why?" 

"I  am  sure  I  don't,"  she  said,  with  a  little  laugh 
and  a  glance  at  him.     "Why?" 

"Because  you  are  a  chatterbox,"  said  Jack,  relish- 
ing the  glance.  "Don't  think,  madame,  that  it  is 
because  you  are  a  kindred  spirit  and  musical.  I  hate 
musical  people.  Who  is  that  lady  sitting  next  Mrs. 
Herbert?" 

"What!  You  don't  know!  That  explains  your 
temerity.  She  is  Lady  Geraldine  Porter;  and  you  are 
the  first  mortal  that  ever  ventured  to  rebuke  her.  It 
was  delicious." 

"Is  that  the  lady  who  would  not  have  me  at  her 
house?" 

"Yes,     You  have  revenged  yourself,  though." 

"Plenty  of  fools  will  say  so;  and  therefore  I  am 
sorry  I  spoke  to  her.  However,  I  cannot  be  expected 
to  know  trifles  of  this  kind,  though  I  am  in  the  con- 
fidence of  pretty  Mrs.  Saunders.  Have  you  any 
wicked  stories  to  tell  me  to-day?" 

"No.  Except  what  everybody  knows,  and  what  I 
suppose  you  knew  before  anybody — about  your  friend 
Miss  Sutherland  and  Adrian  Herbert." 

"What  about  them?  Tell  me  nothing  about  Miss 
Sutherland  unless  you  are  sure  it  is  true.  I  do  not 
want  to  hear  anything  unpleasant  of  her." 

"You  need  not  be  so  cross,"  said  Mrs.  Saunders 
coolly.  "You  can  ask  her  for  the  particulars.  The 
main  fact  is  that  Mr.  Herbert,  who  was  engaged  to 
her,  is  going  to  marry  Szczympliga,  the  pianist." 

"Pshaw!  That  is  an  old  story.  He  has  been  seen 
speaking  to  her  once  or  twice;  and  of  course " 


232  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Now,  Mr.  Jack,  let  me  tell  you  that  it  is  not  the  old 
story,  which  was  mere  gossip.  I  never  repeat  gossip. 
It  is  a  new  story,  and  a  true  one.  Old  'Madame 
Szczymplga  told  me  all  about  it.  Her  daughter 
actually  refused  Mr.  Herbert  because  of  his  former 
engagement;  and  then  he  went  straight  to  Mary 
Sutherland,  and  asked  her  to  give  up  her  claim — which 
of  course  she  had  to  do,  poor  girl.  Then  he  went 
back  to  the  Szczympliga,  and  prevailed  with  her. 
Miss  Sutherland,  with  all  her  seriousness,  shewed  that 
she  knows  her  metier  as  well  as  the  most  frivolous  of 
her  sex — as  myself,  if  you  like ;  for  she  set  to  work  at 
once  to  express  her  remorse  at  having  jilted  him. 
How  transparent  all  our  little  artifices  are  after  all, 
Mr.  Jack!" 

"I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"You  shall  see.  I  did  not  believe  it  myself  at  first. 
But  Miss  Sutherland  told  me  in  this  very  room  the 
day  before  yesterday  that  Mr.  Herbert  was  no  longer 
engaged  to  her,  and  that  she  particularly  wished  it  to 
be  understood  that  if  there  was  any  blame  in  the 
matter,  it  was  due  to  her  and  not  to  him.  Of  course  I 
took  in  the  situation  at  once.  She  said  it  admirably, 
almost  implying  that  she  was  magnanimously  eager  to 
shield  poor  Adrian  Herbert  from  my  busy  tongue. 
Poor  Mary !  she  is  well  rid  of  him  if  she  only  knew  it. 
I  wonder  who  will  be  the  next  candidate  for  the  post 
he  has  deserted!"  Mrs.  Saunders,  as  she  wondered, 
glanced  at  Jack's  eyes. 

"Why  need  she  fill  it  at  all?  Every  woman's  head 
is  not  occupied  with  stuff  of  that  sort. ' '  Jack  spoke 
gruffly,  and  seemed  troubled.  After  a  few  moments, 
during   which    she   leaned  back  lazily,  and  smiled  at 


Love  Among  the  Artists  233 

him,  he  rose.  "Goodbye,"  he  said.  "You  are  not 
very  amusing  to-day.  I  suppose  you  are  telling  this 
fine  stopy  of  yours  to  whoever  has  time  to  listen  to  it. ' ' 

"Not  at  all,  Mr.  Jack.  Everybody  is  telling  it  to 
me.     I  am  quite  tired  of  it.  " 

Jack  uttered  a  grunt,  and  left  her.  Meeting  Mrs. 
Herbert,  he  made  his  bow,  and  asked  where  Miss 
Sutherland  was. 

"She  is  in  the  conservatory,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert, 
hesitating.  "But  I  think  she  will  be  engaged  there 
for  some  time."  He  thanked  her,  and  wandered 
through  the  rooms  for  five  minutes.  Then,  his 
patience  being  exhausted,  he  went  into  the  conserva- 
tory, where  he  saw  Lady  Geraldine  apparently  argu- 
ing some  point  with  Mary,  who  stood  before  her 
looking  obstinately  downward. 

"It  is  quixotic  nonsense,"  Lady  Geraldine  was  say- 
ing as  Jack  entered.  "He  has  behaved  very  badly; 
and  you  know  it  as  well  as  I  do,  only  you  feel  bound 
to  put  yourself  in  a  false  position  to  screen  him." 

"That  is  where  I  disagree  with  you.  Lady  Geral- 
dine. I  think  my  position  the  true  one ;  and  the  one 
you  would  have  me  take,  the  false  one." 

"My  dear,  listen  to  me.  Do  you  not  see  that  your 
efforts  to  exculpate  Adrian  only  convince  people  of 
his  meanness?  The  more  you  declare  you  deserted 
him,  the  more  they  are  certain  that  it  is  a  case  of  sour 
grapes,  and  that  you  are  making  the  common  excuse 
of  girls  who  are  jilted.  Don't  be  angry  with  me — 
nothing  but  brutal  plain  speaking  will  move  you. 
You  told  Belle  Woodward — Belle  Saunders,  I  mean — 
that  the  fault  was  yours.  Do  you  suppose  she 
believed  you?" 


234  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Of  course,**  said  Mary,  vehemently,  but  evidently 
shocked  by  this  view  of  the  case. 

"Then  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Jack,  advancing. 
**She  has  just  given  me  the  very  version  that  this 
lady  has  so  sensibly  put  to  you. ' ' 

Lady  Geraldine  turned  and  looked  at  him  in  a  way 
that  would  have  swept  an  ordinary  man  speechless 
from  the  room. 

Mary,  accustomed  to  him,  did  not  think  of  resenting 
his  interference,  and  said,  after  considering  distressedly 
for  a  moment,  "But  it  is  not  my  fault  if  Mrs.  Saun- 
ders chooses  to  say  what  is  not  true.  I  cannot  adapt 
what  has  really  happened  to  what  she  or  anybody  else 
may  think." 

"I  don't  know  what  has  really  happened,"  said  Jack. 
"But  you  can  hold  your  tongue;  and  that  is  the 
proper  thing  for  you  to  do.  It  is  none  of  their 
business.  It  is  none  of  yours,  either,  to  whitewash 
Herbert,  whether  he  needs  it  or  not.  I  beg  your 
pardon,  ma'am,"  he  added,  turning  ceremoniously  to 
Lady  Geraldine.  "I  should  have  retired  on  seeing 
Miss  Sutherland  engaged,  had  I  not  accidentally  over- 
heard the  excellent  advice  you  were  giving  her." 
With  that,  he  made  her  his  best  old-fashioned  bow, 
and  went  away. 

"Well,  really!"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  staring  after 
him.  "Is  this  the  newest  species  of  artistic  affecta- 
tion, pray?  It  used  to  be  priggishness,  or  loutish- 
ness,  or  exquisite  sensibility.  But  now  it  seems 
to  be  outspoken  common  sense;  and  instead  of 
being  a  relief,  it  is  the  most  insufferable  affecta- 
tion of  all.  My  dear:  I  hope  I  have  not  distressed 
you.*' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  235 

*'Oh,  this  world  is  not  fit  for  any  honest  woman  to 
live  in,"  cried  Mary,  indignantly.  "It  has  some  base 
construction  to  put  on  every  effort  to  be  just  and  tell 
the  truth.  If  I  had  done  my  best  to  blacken  Adrian 
after  deserting  him,  I  should  be  at  no  loss  now  for 
approval  and  sympathy.  As  it  is,  I  am  striving  to  do 
what  is  right;  and  I  am  made  to  appear  contemptible 
for  my  pains. ' ' 

"It  is  not  a  very  honest  world,  I  grant  you,"  said 
Lady  Geraldine  quietly;  "but  it  is  not  so  bad  as  you 
think.  Young  people  quarrel  with  it  because  it  will 
not  permit  them  to  be  heroic  in  season  and  out  of 
season.  You  have  made  a  mistake;  and  you  want  to 
be  heroic  out  of  season  on  the  strength,  or  rather  the 
weakness  of  that  mistake.  I,  who  know  you  well,  do 
not  suppose,  as  Belle  Saunders  does,  that  you  are 
consciously  making  a  virtue  of  a  necessity;  but  I 
think  there  is  a  little  spiritual  pride  in  your  resolution 
not  to  be  betrayed  into  reproaching  Adrian.  In  fact, 
all  quixotism  is  tainted  with  spiritual  vain  glory;  and 
that  is  the  reason  that  no  one  likes  it,  or  even  admires 
it  heartily,  in  real  life.  Besides,  my  dear,  nobody 
really  cares  a  bit  how  Adrian  behaved  or  how  you 
behaved:  they  only  care  about  the  facts;  and  the 
facts,  I  must  say,  are  plain  enough.  You  and  Adrian 
were  unwise  enough  to  enter  into  a  long  engagement. 
You  got  tired  of  one  another — wait  till  I  have 
finished;  and  then  protest  your  fill.  Adrian  went 
behind  your  back  and  proposed  to  another  woman, 
who  was  more  honorable  than  he,  and  refused  to  let 
him  smuggle  her  into  your  place.  Then,  instead  of 
coming  to  demand  his  freedom  straightforwardly,  he 
came  to  fish  for  it — to  entrap  you  into  offering  it  to 


236  Love  Among  the  Artists 

him;  and  he  succeeded.  The  honest  demand  came 
from  you  instead  of  from  him." 

"But  I  fished,  too,"  said  Mary,  piteously.  "I  was 
only  honest  when  he  drove  me  to  it." 

"Of  course,"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  impatiently. 
"You  are  not  an  angel;  and  the  sooner  you  reconcile 
yourself  to  the  few  failings  which  you  share  with  the 
rest  of  us,  the  happier  you  will  be.  None  of  us  are 
honest  in  such  matters  except  when  our  conscience 
drives  us  to  it.  The  honestest  people  are  only  those 
who  feel  the  constraint  soonest  and  strongest.  If  you 
had  held  out  a  little  longer,  Adrian  might  have  fore- 
stalled you.  I  say  he  might;  but,  in  my  opinion,  he 
would  most  probably  fastened  a  quarrel  on  you — 
about  Jack  or  somebody  else — and  got  out  of  his 
engagement  that  way. ' ' 

"Oh,  no;  for  he  spoke  about  Mr.  Jack,  and  said 
expressly  that  he  did  not  mind  him  at  all ;  but  that  if 
he  had  brought  about  any  change  in  my  feelings,  I 

need  not  feel  bound  by  the  eng There :  I  know 

that  is  an  additional  proof  of  his  faithlessness  in  your 
eyes." 

"It  is  a  proof  of  what  a  thorough  fool  a  man  must 
be,  to  expect  you  to  take  siich  a  bait.  'Please  release 
me,  Mr.  Herbert,  that  I  may  gratify  my  fancy  for  M^-. 
Jack.'  That  is  such  a  likely  thing  for  a  woman  to 
say!" 

"I  hope  you  are  not  in  earnest  about  Mr.  Jack, 
Lady  Geraldine. ' 

"I  am  not  pleased  about  him,  Mary.  These  friend- 
ships stand  in  a  girl's  way.  Of  course  I  know  you  are 
not  in  love  with  him — at  least,  accustomed  as  I  am  to 
the  folly  of  men  and  women  about  one  another,  even  I 


Love  Among  the  Artists  237 

cannot  conceive  such  infatuation;  but,  Mary,  do  not 
flourish  your  admiration  for  his  genius  (I  suppose  he 
has  genius)  in  the  faces  of  other  men." 

"I  will  go  back  to  Windsor,  and  get  clear  of  Mr. 
Jack  and  Mr.  Herbert  both.  I  wish  people  would 
mind  their  own  business. ' ' 

"They  never  do,  dear.  But  it  is  time  for  us  to  go. 
Have  I  dashed  your  spirits  very  much?" 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  Mary  absently. 

"Then,  if  you  are  quite  gay,  you  need  not  object  to 
come  somewhere  with  me  this  evening." 

"You  mean  to  go  out  somewhere?  I  cannot.  Lady 
Geraldine.  I  should  only  be  a  wet  blanket.  I  am 
not  in  the  vein  for  society  to-day.  Thank  you,  all  the 
same,^for  trying  to  rescue  me  from  my  own  thoughts." 

"Nonsense,  Mary.  You  must  come.  It  is  only  to 
the  theatre.  Mrs.  Herbert  and  we  two  will  make  a 
quiet  party.  After  what  has  passed  you  cannot  meet 
her  too  soon;  and  I  know  she  is  anxious  to  shew  that 
she  does  not  mean  to  take  Adrian's  part  against  you." 

"Oh,  I  have  no  doubt  of  that.  So  far  from  it,  that  I 
am  afraid  Adrian  will  think  I  am  going  to  her  to  com- 
plain of  him.  There,"  she  added,  seeing  that  this  last 
doubt  was  too  much  for  Lady  Geraldine 's  patience: 
"I  will  come.  I  know  I  am  very  hard  to  please ;  but 
indeed  I  did  not  feel  in  the  humor  for  theatre -going. " 

"You  will  be  ready  at  half -past  seven?" 

Mary  consented ;  sighed;  and  left  the  conservatory 
dejectedly  with  Lady  Geraldine,  who,  on  returning  to 
the  drawing-room  had  another  conference  with  Mrs. 
Herbert. 

Meanwhile  Jack,  after  chatting  a  while  with  Mrs. 
Saunders,    prepared  to   depart.     He  had  put  off  his 


238  Love  Among  the  Artists 

afternoon's  work  in  order  to  be  at  Mr.  Phipson's 
disposal ;  and  he  felt  indolent  and  morally  lax  in  con- 
sequence, stopping,  as  he  made  his  way  to  the  door,  to 
speak  to  several  ladies  who  seldom  received  even  a 
nod  from  him.  On  the  stairs  he  met  the  youngest 
Miss  Phipson,  aged  five  years;  and  he  lingered  a  while 
to  chat  with  her.  He  then  went  down  to  the  hall,  and 
was  about  to  leave  the  house  when  he  heard  his  name 
pronounced  sweetly  behind  him.  He  turned  and  saw 
Lady  Geraldine,  at  whom  he  gazed  in  unconcealed 
surprise. 

"I  forgot  to  thank  you  for  your  timely  aid  in  the 
conservatory,"  she  said,  in  her  most  gracious  manner. 
"I  wonder  whether  you  will  allow  me  to  ask  for 
another  and  greater  favor." 

"What  is  it?"  said  Jack,  suspiciously. 

"Mrs.  Herbert,"  replied  Lady  Geraldine,  with  a 
polite  simulation  of  embarrassment,  "is  going  to  make 
use  of  my  box  at  the  theatre  this  evening;  and  she 
has  asked  me  to  bring  Miss  Sutherland  there.  We  are 
very  anxious  that  you  should  accompany  us,  if  you 
have  no  important  engagement.  As  I  am  the  nominal 
owner  of  the  box,  may  I  beg  you  to  come  with  us." 

Jack  was  not  satisfied :  the  invitation  was  unaccount- 
able to  him,  as  he  knew  perfectly  well  what  Lady 
Geraldine  thought  of  him.  Instead  of  answering,  he 
stood  looking  at  her  in  a  perplexity  which  expressed 
itself  unconsciously  in  hideous  grimaces. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  send  my  carriage  to  your 
house,"  she  said,  when  the  pause  became  unbearable. 

"Yes.  No.  I'll  join  you  at  the  theatre.  Will  that 
do?" 

Lady  Geraldine,  resenting  his  manner,  put  strong 


Love  Among  the  Artists  239 

constraint  on  herself,  as,  with  careful  courtesy  she 
told  him  the  name  of  the  theatre  and  the  hour  of  the 
performance.  He  listened  to  her  attentively,  but 
gave  no  sign  of  assent.  When  she  had  finished  speak- 
ing, he  looked  absently  up  the  staircase ;  shewed  his 
teeth ;  and  hammered  a  tune  on  his  chin  with  the  edge 
of  his  hat.  The  strain  on  Lady  Geraldine's  for- 
bearance became  very  great  indeed. 

"May  we  depend  on  your  coming?"  she  said  at  last. 

"Why  do  you  want  me  to  come?"  he  exclaimed 
suddenly.      "You  don't  like  me. " 

Lady  Geraldine  drew  back  a  step.  Then,  losing 
patience,  she  said  sharply,  "What  answer  do  you 
expect  me  to  make  to  that,  Mr.  Jack?" 

"None,"  said  he  with  mock  gravity.  "It  is 
unanswerable.  From  Capharsalama  on  eagle  wings 
I  fly."  And  after  making  her  another  bow,  he  left 
the  house  chuckling.  As  he  disappeared,  Mrs. 
Herbert  came  downstairs  and  joined  Lady  Geraldine. 

"Well,"  she  said.  "Is  Mary  to  be  made  happy  at 
our  expense?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Geraldine.  "I  bearded  the 
monster  here,  and  got  what  I  deserved  for  my  pains. 
The  man  is  a  savage." 

"I  told  you  what  to  expect." 

"That  did  not  make  it  a  bit  pleasanter.  You  had 
better  come  and  dine  with  me.  Sir  John  is  going  to 
Greenwich;  and  we  may  as  well  enjoy  ourselves 
together  up  to  the  last  moment." 

That  evening  Mary  Sutherland  reluctantly  accom- 
panied Mrs.  Herbert  and  Lady  Geraldine  to  the 
theatre,  to  witness  the  first  performance  in  England 
of  a  newly  translated  French  drama.     When  she  had 


240  Love  Among  the  Artists 

been  a  few  minutes  seated  in  their  box,  she  was  sur- 
prised by  the  entry  of  Jack,  whose  black  silk  kerchief, 
which  he  persisted  in  wearing  instead  of  a  necktie, 
was  secured  with  a  white  pin,  shewing  that  he  had 
dressed  himself  with  unusual  care. 

"Mr.  Jack!"  exclaimed  Mary. 

"Just  so,  Mr.  Jack,"  he  said,  hanging  his  only  hat, 
which  had  suffered  much  from  wet  weather  and  bad 
usage,  on  a  peg  behind  the  door.  "Did  you  not 
expect  him?" 

Mary,  about  to  say  no,  hesitated,  and  glanced  at 
Lady  Geraldine. 

"I  see  you  did  not,"  said  Jack,  placing  his  chair 
behind  hers.     "A  surprise,  eh?" 

"An  agreeable  surprise,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert 
smoothly,  with  her  fan  before  her  lips. 

"An  accidental  one,"  said  Lady  Geraldine.  I  for- 
got to  tell  Miss  Sutherland  that  you  had  been  good 
enough  to  promise  to  come." 

"Mrs.  Herbert  is  laughing  at  me,"  said  Jack,  good- 
hum  oredly.  "So  are  you.  It  is  you  who  were  good 
enough  to  ask  me,  not  I  who  was  good  enough  to 
come.  Listen  to  the  band.  Those  eighteen  or  twenty 
bad  players  cost  more  than  six  good  ones  would,  and 
are  not  half  so  agreeable  to  listen  to.  Do  you  hear 
what  they  are  playing?  Can  you  imagine  anyone 
writing  such  stuff?" 

"It  certainly  sounds  exceedingly  ugly;  but  I  am 
notoriously  unmusical,  so  my  opinion  is  not  worth 
anything." 

"Still,  so  far  as  you  can  judge,  you  don't  like  it?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"I  am  beginning    to   like  it,"  said   Mrs.    Herbert, 


Love  Among  the  Artists  241 

coolly.  ' '  I  am  quite  aware  that  it  is  one  of  your  own 
compositions — or  some  arrangement  of  one." 

"Ha!  ha!  Souvenirs  de  Jack,  they  call  it.  This  is 
what  a  composer  has  to  suffer  whenever  he  goes  to  a 
public  entertainment,  Lady  Geraldine, " 

"In  revenge  for  which,  he  ungenerously  lays  traps 
for  others,  Mr.  Jack." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Jack,  suddenly  becoming 
moody,  "It  was  ungenerous;  but  I  shared  the  dis- 
comfiture.    There  they  go  at  my  fantasia.     Accursed 

be  the  man Hark !     The  dog  has  taken  it  upon 

himself  to  correct  the  harmony. ' '  He  ceased  speak- 
ing, and  leaned  forward  on  his  elbows,  grinding  his 
teeth  and  muttering.  Mary,  in  low  spirits  herself, 
made  an  effort  to  soothe  him. 

"Surely  you  do  not  care  about  such  a  trifle  as  that," 
she  began.     "What  harm " 

"You  call  it  a  trifle,"  he  said,  interrupting  her 
threateningly. 

"Certainly, ' '  interposed  Lady  Geraldine,  in  ironically 
measured  tones.  "A  composer  such  as  you  can  afford 
to  overlook  an  ephemeral  travesty  to  which  nobody  is 
listening.  Were  I  in  your  place,  I  would  not  suffer  a 
thought  of  resentment  to  ruffle  the  calm  surface  of  my 
contempt  for  it. ' ' 

"Wouldn't  you?"  said  Jack,  sarcastically.  "Tell  me 
one  thing.  You  are  very  rich — as  rich  in  money  as  I 
am  in  music.  Would  you  like  to  be  robbed  of  a 
sovereign?" 

"I  am  not  fond  of  being  robbed  at  all,  Mr.  Jack," 

"Aha!  Neither  am  I.  You  wouldn't  miss  the 
sovereign — people  would  think  you  stingy  for  thinking 
about  it.     Perhaps  I  can  afford  to  be  misrepresented 


242  Love  Among  the  Artists 

by  a  rascally  fiddler  for  a  few  nights  here  as  well  as 
you  can  afford  the  pound.     But  I  don't  like  it." 

"You  are  always  unanswerable,"  said  Lady  Geral- 
dine,  good  humoredly. 

Jack  stood  up  and  looked  round  the  theatre.  "All 
the  world  and  his  wife  are  here  to-night,"  he  said. 
"That  white-haired  gentleman  hiding  at  the  back  of 
the  balcony  is  the  father  of  an  old  pupil  of  mine — a 
man  cursed  with  an  ungovernable  temper.  His  name 
is  Brailsford.  The  youth  with  the  eye-glass  in  the 
stalls  is  a  critic :  he  called  me  a  promising  young  com- 
poser the  other  day.  Who  is  that  coming  into  the  box 
nearly  opposite?  The  Szczympliga,  is  it  not?  I  see 
Madame 's  topknot  coming  through  the  inner  gloom. 
She  takes  the  best  seat,  of  course,  just  as  naturally 
as  if  she  was  a  child  at  her  first  pantomime.  There's 
a  handsome  gentleman  with  a  fair  beard  dimly  visible 
behind.  It  must  be  Master  Adrian.  He  has  a  queer 
notion  of  life — that  chap,"  he  added,  forgetting  that 
he  was  in  the  presence  of  "that  chap's"  mother. 

Mrs.  Herbert  looked  round  gravely  at  him;  and 
Lady  Geraldine  frowned.  He  did  not  notice  them: 
he  was  watching  Mary,  who  had  shrunk  for  a  moment 
behind  the  curtain,  but  was  now  sitting  in  full  view  of 
Herbert,  looking  straight  at  the  stage,  from  which  the 
curtain  had  just  gone  up. 

Nothing  more  was  said  in  the  box  until,  at  a  few 
words  pronounced  behind  the  scenes  by  a  strange 
voice.  Jack  uttered  an  inarticulate  sound,  and  stood  up. 
Then  there  came  upon  the  stage  a  lady,  very  pretty, 
very  elegantly  dressed,  a  little  bold  in  her  manner,  a 
little  over-roughed,  fascinating  because  of  these  slight 
excesses,    but   stamped   by  them   as  foreign    to    the 


Love  Among  the  Artists  243 

respectable  society  into  which  she  was  supposed  to 
have  intruded. 

"Absurd!"  said  Mary  suddenly,  after  gazing 
incredulously  at  the  actress  for  a  moment.  "It  cannot 
be.  And  yet  I  verily  believe  it  is.  Lady  Geraldine: 
is  not  that  Madge  Brailsford?" 

"I  really  think  it  is,"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  using  her 
opera  glass.  "How  shockingly  she  is  painted!  And 
yet  I  don't  believe  it  is,  either.  That  woman  is 
evidently  very  clever,  which  Madge  never  was,  so  far 
as  I  could  see.     And  the  voice  is  quite  different." 

"Oho!"  said  Jack.  "It  was  I  who  found  that  voice 
for  her. ' ' 

"Then  it  zV Madge,"  said  Mary. 

"Of  course  it  is.  Rub  your  eyes  and  see  for  your- 
self." Mary  looked  and  looked,  as  if  she  could  hardly 
believe  it  yet.  At  the  end  of  the  act,  the  principal 
performers,  including  Magdalen,  were  called  before 
the  curtain  and  heartily  applauded.  Jack,  though 
contemptuous  of  popular  demonstrations,  joined  in 
this,  making  as  much  noise  as  possible,  and  impatiently 
bidding  Mary  take  off  her  gloves,  that  she  might  clap 
her  hands  with  more  effect.  A  moment  afterwards, 
there  was  a  hasty  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  box. 
Mary  looked  across  the  theatre;  saw  that  Adrian's 
chair  was  vacant;  and  turned  red.  Jack  opened  the 
door,  and  admitted,  not  Adrian,  but  Mr.  Brailsford, 
who  hurried  to  the  front  of  the  box;  shook  Lady 
Geraldine's  hand  nervously;  made  a  hasty  bow  right 
and  left  to  Mary  and  Mrs.  Herbert;  and,  after  making 
as  though  he  had  something  particular  to  say,  sat 
down  in  Jack's  chair  and  said  nothing.  He  was 
greatly  agitated. 


244  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Well,  Mr.  Brailsford, "  said  Lady  Geraldine,  smil- 
ing.    "Dare  I  congratulate  you?" 

"Not  a  word — not  a  word,"  he  said,  as  if  he  were 
half-suffocated.  "I  beg  your  pardon  for  coming  into 
your  box.  I  am  a  broken  man — disgraced  by  my  own 
daughter.  My  favorite  daughter,  sir — madame — I  beg 
your  pardon  again.  You  can  tell  this  young  lady  that 
she  was  my  favorite  daughter," 

"But  you  must  not  take  her  brilliant  success  in  this 
way,"  said  Lady  Geraldine  gently,  looking  at  him 
with  surprise  and  pity.  "And  remember  that  you 
have  other  girls. ' ' 

"Psha!  Whish-h-h!"  hissed  the  old  gentleman, 
throwing  up  his  hand  and  snapping  his  fingers. 
"They  are  all  born  fools — like  their  mother.  SJie  is 
like  me,  the  only  one  that  is  like  me.  Did  you  ever 
see  such  impudence?  A  girl  bought  up  as  she  was, 
walking  out  of  a  house  in  Kensington  Palace  Gardens 
on  to  the  stage,  and  playing  a  Parisian — a  French — 
Gad  bless  me,  a  drab !  to  the  life.  It  was  perfection. 
I've  seen  everybody  that  ever  acted — years  before 
your  ladyship  was  born.  I  remember  Miss  O'Neill, 
aye,  and  Mrs.  Jordan;  Mars,  Rachel,  Piccolomini! 
she's  better  than  any  of  'em,  except  Miss  O'Neill — I 
was  young  in  her  time.  She  wouldn't  be  kept  from 
it.  I  set  my  face  against  it.  So  did  her  mother — who 
could  no  more  appreciate  her  than  a  turnip  could.  So 
did  we  all.  We  locked  her  up;  we  took  her  money 
from  her;  I  threatened  to  disown  her — and  so  I  will 
too;  but  she  had  her  way  in  spite  of  us  all.  Just  like 
me:  exactly  like  me.  Why,  when  I  was  her  age,  I 
cared  no  more  for  my  family  than  I  did  for  Buona- 
parte.    It's  in  her  blood.     I  should  have  been  on  the 


Love  Among  the  Artists  245 

stage  myself  only  it's  a  blackguard  profession;  and  a 
man  who  can  write  tragedy  does  not  need  to  act  it.  I 
will  turn  over  some  of  my  old  manuscripts;  and  she 
shall  show  the  world  what  her  old  father  can  do. 
And  did  you  notice  how  self-possessed  she  was?  I 
saw  the  nerves  under  it.  I  felt  them.  Nervousness 
always  played  the  devil  with  me.  I  tell  you,  madame 
— and  I  am  qualified  to  speak  on  the  subject — that  she 
walks  the  stage  and  gives  out  her  lines  in  the  true  old 
style.  You  don't  know  these  things,  Miss  Mary:  you 
are  too  young:  you  never  saw  great  acting.  But  I 
know.  I  had  lessons  from  the  great  Young:  Edmund 
Kean  was  a  mountebank  beside  him.  I  was  the  best  pupil 
of  Charles  Mayne  Young,  and  of  little  Dutch  Sam — 
but  that  was  another  matter.  No  true  lady  would 
paint  her  face  and  make  an  exhibition  of  herself  on 
a  public  stage  for  money.  Still,  it  is  a  most  extra- 
ordinary thing  that  a  young  girl  like  that,  without  any 
teaching  or  preparation,  should  walk  out  of  a  drawing 
room  on  to  the  stage,  and  take  London  by  storm." 

"But  has  she  not  had  some  little  experience  in 
the  provinces?"  said  Mary. 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Brailsford  impatiently. 
"Strolling  about  with  a  parcel  of  vagabond  panto- 
mimists  is  not  experience — not  proper  experience  for 
a  young  lady.  She  is  the  first  Brailsford  that  ever 
played  for  money  in  a  public  theatre.  She  is  not  a 
Brailsford  at  all.  I  have  forbidden  her  to  use  the 
name  she's  disgraced." 

"Come,"  said  Lady  Geraldine.  "You  are  proud  of 
her.     You  know  you  are." 

"I  am  not.  I  have  refused  to  see  her.  I  have  dis- 
owned her.     If  I  caught  one  of  her  sisters  coming  to 


246  Love  Among  the  Artists 

witness  this  indecent  French  play  of  which  she  is  the 
life  and  soul — what  would  it  be  without  her,  Lady 
Geraldine  ?     Tell  me  that. ' ' 

"It  would  be  the  dullest  business  imaginable." 

"Ha!  ha!"  cried  Brailsford,  with  a  triumphant 
gesture:  "I  should  think  so.  Dull  as  ditch  water. 
Her  voice  alone  would  draw  all  London  to  listen. 
Perhaps  you  think  that  I  taught  her  to  speak.  I  tell 
you,  Mrs.  Herbert,  I  would  have  slain  her  with  my 
own  hand  as  soon  as  trained  her  for  such  a  profession. 
Who  taught  her  then?     Why " 

"I  did,"  said  Jack.  Mr.  Brailsford,  who  had  not 
noticed  his  presence  before,  stared  at  him,  and 
stiffened  as  he  did  so. 

"I  believe  you  are  already  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Jack,"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  watching  them  with 
some  anxiety. 

"You  see  what  she  has  made  of  herself,"  said  Jack, 
looking  hard  at  him.  "I  helped  her  to  do  it:  you 
opposed  her.      Which  of  us  was  in  the  right?" 

"I  will  not  go  into  that  question  with  you,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Brailsford,  raising  his  voice,  and  waving  his  glove. 
"I  do  not  approve  of  my  daughter's  proceedings." 
He  turned  from  Jack  to  Mrs.  Herbert,  and  made  a 
brave  effort  to  chat  with  her  with  a  jaunty  air.  "A 
distinguished  audience,  to-night.  I  think  I  saw  some- 
where in  the  house,  your  son,  not  the  least  dis- 
tinguished of  us.  Painting  is  a  noble  art.  I  remember 
when  painters  did  not  stand  as  well  in  society  as  they 
do  now;  but  never  in  my  life  have  I  failed  in  respect 
for  them.  Never.  A  man  is  the  better  for  contem- 
plating a  great  picture.  Your  son  has  an  enviable 
career  before  him." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  247 

"So  I  am  told.' 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it.  He  is  a  fine  young  man — as  he 
indeed  could  not  fail  to  be  with  such  an  inheritance  of 
personal  graces  and  mental  endowments." 

"He  is  very  like  his  father." 

"Possibly,  madame,"  said  Mr.  Brailsford,  bowing. 
"But  I  never  saw  his  father." 

"Whatever  his  career  may  be,  I  shall  have  little  part 
in  it.  I  did  not  encourage  him  to  become  an  artist.  I 
opposed  his  doing  so  as  well  as  I  could.  I  was  mis- 
taken, I  suppose :  it  is  easier  than  I  thought  to  become 
a  popular  painter.  But  children  never  forgive  such 
mistakes. ' ' 

"Forgive!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Brailsford,  his  withered 
cheek  reddening  faintly.  ' '  If  you  have  forgiven  him  for 
disregarding  your  wishes,  you  can  hardly  believe  that 
he  will  be  so  unnatural  as  to  cherish  any  bad  feeling 
towards  you.     Eh?" 

"It  is  not  unnatural  to  resent  an  unmerited  wound 
to  one's  vanity.  If  I  could  honestly  admire  Adrian's 
work  even  now,  I  have  no  doubt  he  would  consent  to 
be  reconciled  to  me  in  time.  But  I  cannot.  His 
pictures  seem  weak  and  sentimental  to  me.  I  can  see 
the  deficiencies  of  his  character  in  every  line  of  them. 
I  always  thought  that  genius  was  an  indispensable 
condition  to  success. ' ' 

"Ha!  ha!"  said  Jack.  "What  you  call  success  is 
the  compensation  of  the  man  who  has  no  genius.  If 
you  had  believed  in  his  genius,  and  yet  wanted  suc- 
cess for  him,  you  might  have  opposed  him  with  better 
reason.  Some  men  begin  by  aiming  high,  and  they 
have  to  wait  till  the  world  comes  up  to  their  level. 
Others  aim  low,  and  have  to  lift  themselves  to  success. 


248  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Happy  fellows  like  Mr.  Adrian  hit  the  mark  at  once, 
being  neither  too  good  for  the  Academy  people  nor 
too  bad  for  the  public.  * ' 

"Probably  you  are  right,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert.  "I 
should  have  borne  in  mind  that  worse  painters  than  he 
enjoy  a  fair  share  of  toleration.  However,  I  must 
abide  by  my  error  now." 

"But  surely,"  said  Mr.  Brailsford,  harping  anxiously 
on  the  point,  "you  do  not  find  that  he  persists  in  any 
little  feeling  of  disappointment  that  you  may  have 
caused  him  formerly.  No,  no:  he  can't  do  that.  He 
must  see  that  you  were  actuated  by  the  truest  regard 
for  his  welfare  and — and  so  forth. ' ' 

"I  find  that  his  obstinacy,  or  perseverance  rather, 
is  as  evident  in  his  resentment  against  me  as  it  was  in 
his  determination  to  make  himself  an  artist  in  spite 
of  me." 

Mr.  Brailsford,  troubled,  bit  his  nail,  and  glanced 
at  Mrs.  Herbert  twice  or  thrice,  without  speaking. 
Lady  Geraldine  watched  him  for  a  moment,  and  then 
said: 

"There  is  a  difference  between  your  case  and  Mrs. 
Herbert's." 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "Oh,  of  course. 
Quite  different.     I  was  not  thinking  of  any  such " 

"And  yet,"  continued  Lady  Geraldine,  "there  is 
some  likeness  too.  You  both  opposed  your  children's 
tastes.  But  Mrs.  Herbert  does  not  believe  in 
Adrian's  talent,  although  she  is  glad  he  has  made  a 
position  for  himself.  You,  on  the  contrary,  are 
carried  away  by  Magdalen's  talent;  but  you  are  indig- 
nant at  the  position  it  has  made  for  her." 

"I  am  not  carried  away.     You  entirely  misappre- 


Love  Among  the  Artists  249 

hend  my  feelings.  I  deeply  deplore  her  conduct.  I 
have  ceased  to  correspond  with  her  even,  since  she  set 
my  feelings  at  defiance  by  accepting  a  London  engage- 
ment." 

"In  short,"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  with  good-humored 
raillery,  "you  would  not  speak  to  her  if  she  were  to 
walk  into  this  box." 

Mr.  Brailsford  started  and  looked  round ;  but  there 
was  no  one  behind  him:  Jack  had  disappeared. 
"No,"  he  said,  recovering  himself.  "Certainly  not. 
I  cannot  believe  that  she  would  venture  into  my 
presence." 

The  curtain  went  up  as  he  spoke.  When  Madge 
again  came  on  the  stage,  her  business  was  of  a  more 
serious  character  than  in  the  first  act,  and  displayed 
the  heartless  determination  of  the  adventuress  rather 
than  her  amusing  impudence.  Lady  Geraldine, 
admiring  a  certain  illustration  of  this,  turned  with  an 
approving  glance  to  Mr.  Brailsford.  He  was  looking 
fixedly  at  the  stage,  no  longer  triumphant,  almost 
haggard.  He  seemed  relieved  when  the  actress,  being 
supposed  to  recognize  an  old  lover,  relented,  and 
showed  some  capacity  for  sentiment.  When  the  act 
was  over,  he  still  sat  staring  nervously  at  the  curtain. 
Presently  the  box  door  opened;  and  he  again  looked 
round  with  a  start.  It  was  Jack,  who,  returning  his 
testy  regard  with  a  grim  smile,  came  close  to  him; 
stretched  an  arm  over  his  head ;  and  pulled  over  one 
of  the  curtains  of  the  box  so  as  to  seclude  it  from  the 
house.     Mr.  Brailsford  rose,  trembling. 

"I  absolutely  refuse "  he  began. 

Jack  opened  the  door;  and  Madge,  with  her  dress 
covered  by  a  large  domino  cloak,  hurried  in.      She 


250  Love  Among  the  Artists 

threw  off  the  cloak  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed,  and 
then  seized  her  father  and  kissed  him.  He  said  with 
difficulty,  "My  dear  child";  sat  down;  and  bent  his 
head,  overpowered  by  emotion  for  the  moment.  She 
stood  with  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  bowed  over 
him  in  a  very  self-possessed  manner  to  Mary,  whom 
she  addressed  at  "Miss  Sutherland,"  and  to  the  others. 

"I  have  no  business  to  be  here,"  she  said,  in  a 
penetrating  whisper.  "It  is  against  rules.  But  when 
Mr,  Jack  came  in  and  told  me  that  my  father  was  here, 
I  could  not  let  him  go  without  speaking  to  him. ' ' 

Lady  Geraldine  bowed.  She  and  her  companions 
had  been  prepared  to  receive  Madge  with  frank  affec- 
tion; but  her  appearance  and  manner  quite  discon- 
certed them.  They  recollected  her  as  a  pretty, 
petulant  young  lady:  they  had  actually  seen  her  as 
one  only  two  minutes  before  on  the  stage.  Yet  here 
she  was,  apparently  grown  during  those  two  minutes 
not  only  in  stature  but  in  frame.  The  slight  and 
elegant  lady  of  the  play  was  in  the  box  a  large,  strong 
woman,  with  resonant  voice  and  measured  speech. 
Even  her  hand,  as  she  patted  her  father's  shoulder, 
moved  rhythmically  as  if  the  gesture  were  studied. 
The  kindly  patronage  with  which  Lady  Geraldine  had 
been  willing  to  receive  an  impulsive,  clever  young 
girl,  was  forgotten  in  the  mixture  of  respect,  disap- 
pointment, and  even  aversion  inspired  by  the  self-con- 
trolled, independent  and  accomplished  woman.  Mary 
was  the  first  to  recover  herself. 

"Madge,"  she  said: — "that  is,  if  one  may  venture  to 
call  you  Madge. ' ' 

"Indeed  you  may,"  said  Madge,  nodding  and  smiling 
gracefully. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  251 

"You  are  a  great  deal  more  like  yourself  on  the 
stage  than  off  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Madge.  "For  the  last  two  and  a  half 
years,  I  have  not  taken  a  single  holiday. ' ' 

Mr.  Brailsford  now  sat  upright;  coughed;  and 
looked  severely  round.  His  lip  relaxed  as  his  gaze 
fell  on  Magdalen;  and  after  an  apprehensive  glance 
at  her,  he  lost  his  assurance  even  more  obviously  than 
the  others. 

"You  have  grown  a  good  deal,  I  think,  my  child," 
he  said  nervously. 

"Yes.  I  hardly  expected  you  to  know  me.  You 
are  looking  better  than  ever.     How  are  the  girls?" 

"Quite  well,  thank  you,  my  dear.     Quite  well." 

"And  mother?" 

"Oh,  she  is  well.  A  little  rheumatism,  of  course; 
and — a ' ' 

"I  shall  come  and  see  you  all  to-morrow,  at  one 
o'clock.     Be  sure  to  stay  at  home  for  me,  won't  you?" 

"Certainly.  Certainly.  We  shall  be  very  glad  to 
see  you. ' ' 

"Now  I  must  run  away;  and  I  shall  not  see  you 
again  to-night  except  across  the  footlights.  Mr. 
Jack:  my  domino."  Jack  put  the  cloak  upon  her 
shoulders.  "Is  the  corridor  empty?"  Jack  looked 
out  and  reported  it  empty.  "I  must  give  you  one 
more  kiss,  father."  She  did  so;  and  on  this  occasion 
Mr.  Brailsford  did  not  exhibit  emotion,  but  merely 
looked  dazed.  Then  she  bowed  as  sweetly  as  before 
to  Lady  Geraldine  and  Mrs.  Herbert. 

"Good  night,  Madge,"  said  Mary,  putting  up  her 
spectacles,  and  peering  boldly  at  her. 

"Good  night,   dear,"  said  Madge,  passing  her  arm 


252  Love  Among  the  Artists 

round  Mary's  neck,  and  stooping  to  kiss  her.  "Come 
to  morrow ;  and  I  will  tell  you  all  the  news  about 
myself.     May  I  fly  now,  Mr.  Jack?" 

"Come  along-,"  said  Jack;  and  she  tripped  out, 
whisking  her  domino  dexterously  through  the  narrow 
door,  and  revealing  for  an  instant  her  small  foot. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence  in  the  box  for  some 
moments  after  she  left.  It  was  broken  by  the  chuck- 
ling of  Jack,  who  presently  said  aside  to  Mary,  "When 
I  first  saw  that  young  lady,  she  was  a  helpless  good- 
for-nothing  piece  of  finery." 

"And  now,"  said  Mary,  "she  is  an  independent 
woman,  and  an  accomplished  artist.     How  I  envy  her ! ' ' 

"And  pray  why?"  said  Jack. 

"Because  she  is  of  some  use  in  the  world." 

"If  you  will  allow  me,"  said  Mr.  Brailsford,  rising 
suddenly,  "I  will  return  to  my  own  place.  I  am  incom- 
moding your  friend,  doubtless.  Good-night."  He 
offered  a  trembling  hand  t6  Lady  Geraldine;  made 
a  courtly  demonstration  towards  Mary  and  Mrs. 
Herbert ;  and  turned  to  go.  On  his  way  to  the  door 
he  stopped;  confronted  Jack;  and  made  him  a  grave 
bow,  which  was  returned  with  equal  dignity.  Then 
he  went  out  slowly,  like  an  infirm  old  man,  without 
any  sign  of  his  habitual  jauntiness  of  bearing. 

"Poor  devil!"  said  Jack. 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  said  Lady  Geraldine  sharply. 

"He  finds  his  pet  baby  changed  into  a  woman;  and 
he  doesn't  like  it,"  said  Jack,  not  heeding  her  remon- 
strance. "Now,  if  she  were  still  the  cream-colored, 
helpless  little  beauty  she  used  to  be,  quite  dependent 
on  him,  he  would  be  delighted  to  have  such  a  pretty 
domestic  toy  to  play  with. ' ' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  253 

**Perhaps  so,"  said  Lady  Geraldine.  "But  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  parental  feeling ;  and  it  is  possible  that 
Mr.  Brailsford  may  not  be  philosopher  enough  to 
rejoice  at  a  change  which  has  widened  the  distance 
between  her  youth  and  his  age." 

"He  need  not  be  alarmed,"  said  Jack.  "If  he  can- 
not make  a  toy  of  her  any  longer,  she  can  make  a  toy 
of  him.  She  is  thinking  already  of  setting  up  a  white 
haired  father  as  part  of  her  equipment :  I  saw  the  idea 
come  into  the  jade's  head  whilst  she  was  looking 
down  at  him  in  that  chair.  He  looked  effective.  This 
family  affection  is  half  sense  of  property,  and  half 
sense  of  superiority.  Miss  Sutherland — who  is  no  use 
in  the  world,  poor  young  lady — had  not  such  property 
in  Miss  Brailsford  as  her  father  expected  to  have,  and 
no  such  comfortable  power  of  inviting  her  to  parties 
and  getting  her  married  as  you  look  forward  to.  And 
consequently,  she  was  the  only  one  who  bore  the 
change  in  her  with  a  good  grace,  and  really  welcomed 
her." 

"I  am  not  conscious  of  having  been  otherwise  than 
perfectly  friendly  to  her. ' ' 

"Ain't  you?"  said  Jack,  sceptically.  Lady  Geraldine 
reddened  slightly ;  then  smiled  in  spite  of  her  vexa- 
tion, and  said,  "Really,  Mr.  Jack,  you  are  a  sort  of 
grown  up  enfant  terrible.  I  confess  that  I  was  a  little 
overpowered  by  her  staginess.  I  can  understand 
actors  being  insufferably  stagey  on  the  boards,  and 
quite  natural  in  a  room ;  but  I  cannot  make  out  how  an 
actress  can  be  perfectly  natural  on  the  boards,  and 
stagey  in  private. ' ' 

"Acting  has  become  natural  to  her;  and  she  has  lost 
the  habit  of  your  society;    that  is  all.     As  you  say, 


254  Love  Among  the  Artists 

acting  never  becomes  natural   to  bad  actors.     There 
she  comes  again. ' ' 

"The  charm  is  considerably  weakened,"  said  Lady 
Geraldine,  turning  toward  the  stage.  "She  does  not 
seem  half  so  real  as  she  did  before." 

The  play  ended  as  successfully  as  it  had  begun. 
The  translators  responded  to  calls  for  the  author; 
and  Miss  Madge  Lancaster  took  the  lion's  share  of  the 
rest  of  the  applause.  Then  the  pit  and  galleries 
emptied  themselves  into  the  street  with  much  tramp- 
ling of  stairs.  The  occupants  of  the  more  expensive 
places  made  their  way  slowly  through  the  crush-room, 
one  step  at  a  time :  the  men  sliding  their  feet  forward 
at  every  advance:  the  women  holding  warm  head 
wrappings  fast  with  one  hand,  and  hanging  awkwardly 
on  to  the  arms  of  gentlemen  with  the  other.  Lady 
Geraldine  got  a  glimpse  of  Mr.  Brailsford  as  she 
descended;  but  he  hurried  away,  as  if  desirous  to 
avoid  further  conversation.  Jack,  who  had  amused 
her  by  betraying  some  emotion  at  the  pathetic  pas- 
sages in  the  play,  and  who  had  since  been  silent,  walked 
gloomily  beside  Mary.  They  were  detained  for  some 
minutes  in  the  vestibule,  Lady  Geraldine's  footman 
not  being  at  hand. 

"Come,"  said  Jack,  sulkily.  "Here  is  somebody 
happy  at  last." 

Mary  looked  and  saw  Herbert  coming  down  the 
stairs  with  Aurelie,  who  was,  like  Jack,  the  subject  of 
some  whispering  and  pointing. 

"Yes,"  said  Mary.  "He  is  happy.  I  do  not  wonder 
at  it:  she  is  very  gentle  and  lovely.  She  is  a  greater 
artist  than  Madge:  yet  she  has  none  of  Madge's 
assurance,  which  would  repel  Adrian. ' ' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  255 

"She  has  plenty  of  assurance  in  music,  which  is  her 
trade.  Miss  Madge  has  plenty  of  assurance  in 
manners,  which  are  her  trade. '  * 

"I  am  just  thinking,  Geraldine,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert, 
"of  the  difference  between  Adrian  and  that  girl — 
Madge  Brailsford.  She,  capable,  sensible,  able  to  hold 
her  own  against  the  world.  She  is  everything,  in 
short,  that  Adrian  is  not,  and  that  I  have  often  wished 
him  to  be.  Yet  her  father  seems  as  far  from  being 
united  to  her  as  Adrian  is  from  me.  Query  then:  is 
there  any  use  in  caring  for  one's  children?  I  really 
don't  believe  there  is." 

"Not  the  least,  after  they  have  become  independent 
of  you,"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  looking  impatiently 
towards  the  door.  "Where  is  Williams?  I  think  he 
must  have  gone  mad. '  * 

At  this  moment  Aur^lie,  recognizing  Mrs.  Herbert, 
made  as  though  she  would  stop,  and  said  something  to 
Adrian  which  threw  him  into  trouble  and  indecision 
at  once.  Apparently  she  was  urging  him,  and  he 
making  excuses,  taking  care  not  to  look  towards  his 
mother.  This  dumb  show  was  perfectly  intelligible 
to  Mrs.  Herbert,  who  directed  Lady  Geraldine's 
attention  to  it. 

"It  is  all  Williams's  fault,"  said  Lady  Geraldine. 
"We  should  have  been  out  of  this  five  minutes  ago. 
You  had  better  take  the  bull  by  the  horns  at  once, 
Eliza.     Go  and  speak  to  him — the  vacillating  idiot!" 

"I  will  not,  indeed,"  said  Mrs,  Herbert.  "I  hope 
he  will  have  the  firmness  to  make  her  go  away. ' ' 

The  question  was  settled  by  the  appearance  of  Lady 
Geraldine's  servant,  who  hurried  in,  and  began  to 
explain  the  delay. 


256  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"There.  I  do  not  want  to  hear  anything  about  it," 
said  Lady  Geraldine.     "Now,  where  is  Mary?" 

Mary  was  already  hastening-  out  with  Jack.  Herbert 
saw  them  go  with  a  sensation  of  relief.  When  he 
reached  his  lodgings  he  was  disagreeably  relieved  from 
some  remorse  for  having  avoided  Mary,  On  the  table 
lay  a  parcel  containing  all  his  letters  and  presents  to 
her,  with  a  note — beginning  "Dear  Mr,  Herbert" — 
in  which  she  said  briefly  that  on  second  thoughts  she 
considered  it  best  to  follow  the  usual  course,  and 
begged  him  to  believe  that  she  was,  sincerely  his, 
Mary  Sutherland. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Next  day,  in  the  afternoon,  Jack  left  the  room,  the 
establishment  of  a  celebrated  firm  of  pianoforte  manu- 
facturers, where  he  gave  his  lessons,  and  walked  home- 
ward across  Hyde  Park.  Here  he  saw  approaching 
him  a  woman,  dressed  in  light  peacock  blue,  with  a 
pale  maize  colored  scarf  on  her  neck  and  shoulders, 
and  a  large  Spanish  hat.  Jack  stood  still  and  looked 
gloomily  at  her.  She  put  on  a  pair  of  eye  glasses; 
scrutinized  him  for  a  moment ;  and  immediately  shook 
them  off  her  nose  and  stopped. 

"You  have  finished  work  early  to-day,"  she  said, 
smiling. 

"I  have  not  finished  it,"  he  replied:  "I  have  put 
them  off,  I  want  to  go  home  and  work :  I  cannot  spend 
my  life  making  money — not  that  I  am  likely  to  have 
the  chance.     Four  lessons — five  guineas — lost. ' ' 

"You  wrote  to  them,  I  hope," 

"No.  They  will  find  out  that  I  am  not  there  when 
they  call ;  and  then  they  can  teach  themselves  or  go 
to  the  devil.  They  would  put  me  off  sooner  than  lose 
a  tennis  party.  I  will  put  them  off  sooner  than  lose  a 
good  afternoon's  work.  I  am  losing  my  old  inde- 
pendence over  this  money-making  and  society  business 
— I  don't  like  it.  No  matter.  Are  you  on  your  way 
to  Cavendish  Square?" 

"Yes.  But  you  must  not  turn  back.  You  did  not 
sacrifice  your  teaching  to  gad  about  the  park  with  me. 
You  want  to  compose.     I  know  by  your  face." 

257 


258  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Are  you  in  a  hurry?" 

**/am  not;  but " 

"Then  come  and  gad  about,  as  you  call  it,  for  a 
while.  It  is  too  fine  a  day  to  go  indoors  and  grind 
tunes. ' ' 

She  turned ;  and  they  strolled  away  across  the  plain 
between  the  Serpentine  and  the  Bayswater  Road, 
crossing  a  vacant  expanse  of  sward,  or  picking  their 
way  amongst  idlers  who  lay  prone  on  the  grass 
asleep,  or  basked  supine  in  the  sun.  It  was  a  warm 
afternoon ;  and  the  sky  was  cloudless, 

"You  would  not  suppose,  seeing  the  world  look  so 
pleasant,  that  it  is  such  a  rascally  place  as  it  is,"  said 
Jack,  when  they  had  walked  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"It  is  not  so  very  bad,  though,  after  all.  If  you  were 
a  little  of  a  painter,  as  I  am,  this  sunlit  sward  and 
foliage  would  repay  you  for  all  the  stupidities  of  people 
who  have  eyes,  but  cannot  use  them. ' ' 

"Aye.  And  painters  suppose  that  their  art  is  an 
ennobling  one.  Suppose  I  held  up  a  lying,  treacher- 
ous, cruel  woman  to  the  admiration  of  a  painter,  and 
reviled  him  as  unimaginative  if  he  would  not  accept 
her  blue  eyes,  and  silky  hair,  and  fine  figure  as  a  com- 
pensation for  her  corrupt  heart,  he  would  call  me 
names — cynical  sensualist,  and  so  forth.  What  better 
is  he  with  his  boasted  loveliness  of  Nature?  There  are 
moments  when  I  should  like  to  see  a  good  hissing, 
scorching  shower  of  brimstone  sear  all  the  beauty  out 
of  her  false  face." 

"  Oh !     What  is  the  matter  to-day?' ' 

"Spleen — because  I  am  poor.  It  is  the  source  of 
most  people's  complaints." 

"But  you  are  not  poor.     Recollect   that  you  have 


Love  Among  the  Artists  259 

just  thrown  away  five  guineas,  and  that  you  will  make 
ten  to-morrow." 

"I  know." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  are  guineas  wealth  to  a  man  who  wants  time 
and  freedom  from  base  people  and  base  thoughts? 
No :  I  have  starved  out  the  first  half  of  my  life  alone : 
I  will  fight  through  the  second  half  on  the  same  con- 
ditions. I  get  ten  guineas  a  day  at  present  for  teach- 
ing female  apes  to  scream,  that  they  may  be  the  better 
qualified  for  the  marriage  market.  That  is  because  I 
am  the  fashion.  How  long  shall  I  remain  the  fashion? 
Until  August,  when  the  world — as  it  calls  itself — will 
emigrate,  and  return  next  spring  to  make  the  fortune 
of  the  next  lucky  charlatan  who  makes  a  bid  for  my 
place.  I  shall  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  them,  in  spite  of 
their  guineas:  teaching  them  wastes  my  time,  and 
does  them  no  good.  Then  there  is  the  profit  on  my 
compositions,  of  which  I  get  five  per  cent,  perhaps  in 
money,  with  all  the  honor  and  glory.  The  rest  goes 
into  the  pockets  of  publishers  and  concert  givers,  some 
of  whom  will  go  down  half-way  to  posterity  on  my 
back  because  they  have  given  me,  for  a  symphony  with 
the  fruits  of  twenty  years'  hard  work  in  it,  about  one- 
fifth  of  what  is  given  for  a  trumpery  picture  or  novel 
everyday.  That  fantasia  of  mine  has  been  pirated  and 
played  in  every  musical  capital  in  Europe ;  and  I  could 
not  afford  to  buy  you  a  sable  jacket  out  of  what  I  have 
made  by  it. ' ' 

"It  is  very  hard,  certainly.  But  do  you  really  care 
about  money?" 

"Ha!  ha!  No,  of  course  not.  Music  is  its  own 
reward.     Composers  are  not  human :  they  can  live  on 


26o  Love  Among  the  Artists 

diminished  sevenths ;  and  be  contented  with  a  piano- 
forte for  a  wife,  and  a  string  quartette  for  a  family. 
Come,"  he  added  boisterously,  "enough  of  grumbling. 
When  I  took  to  composing,  I  knew  I  was  bringing  my 
pigs  to  a  bad  market.  But  don't  pretend  to  believe 
that  a  composer  can  satisfy  either  his  appetite  or  his 
affections  with  music  any  more  than  a  butcher  or  a 
baker  can.  I  dare  say  I  shall  live  all  the  more  quietly 
for  being  an  old  bachelor. ' ' 

"I  never  dreamt  that  you  would  care  to  marry." 
"And  who  tells  you  that  I  would  now?" 
"I    thought    you   were    regretting    your    enforced 
celibacy,"  she  replied,  laughing.      He  frowned;  and 
she  became  serious.     "Somehow,"  she  added,  "I  can- 
not fancy  you  as  a  married  man." 

"Why?"  he  said,  turning  angrily  upon  her.  "Am  I 
a  fish,  or  a  musical  box?  Why  have  I  less  right  to  the 
common  ties  of  social  life  than  another  man?" 

"Of  course  you  have  as  much  right,"  she  said, 
surprised  that  her  remark  should  have  hurt  him. 
"But    I    have   known    you    so    long    as   you   are  at 

present " 

"What  am  I  at  present?" 

"A  sort  of  inspired  hermit,"  she  replied,  undaunted. 
"It  seems  as  if  marriage  would  be  an  impossible  con- 
descension on  your  part.  That  is  only  a  fancy,  I 
know.  If  you  could  find  any  woman  worthy  of  you 
and  able  to  make  you  happy,  I  think  you  ought  to 
marry.  I  should  be  delighted  to  see  )'ou  surrounded 
by  a  pack  of  naughty  children.  You  would  never  be 
an  ogre  any  more  then." 

"Do  you  think  I  am  an  ogre,  then?     Eh?" 
"Sometimes.     To-day,  for  instance,  I  think  you  are 


Love  Among  the  Artists  261 

decidedly  ogreish.     I  hope  I  am  not  anoying-  you  with 
my  frivolity.     I  am  unusually  frivolous  to-day," 

"Hm!  You  seem  to  me  to  be  speaking  to  the  point 
pretty  forcibly.  So  you  would  like  to  see  me 
married?" 

"Happily  married,  yes.  I  should  be  glad  to  think 
that  your  lonely,  gloomy  lodging  was  changed  for  a 
cheerful  hearth ;  and  that  you  had  some  person  to  take 
care  of  your  domestic  arrangements,  which  you  are 
quite  unfit  to  manage  for  yourself.  Now  that  you 
have  suggested  the  idea,  it  grows  on  me  rapidly.  May 
I  set  to  work  to  find  a  wife  for  you?" 

"Of  course  it  does  not  occur  to  you,"  he  said,  with 
unabated  ill  humor,  "that  I  may  have  chosen  for  my- 
self already — that  I  might  actually  have  some  senti- 
mental bias  in  the  business,  for  instance." 

Mary,  much  puzzled,  put  on  her  spectacles,  and  tried 
to  find  from  his  expression  whether  he  was  serious  or 
joking.  Failing,  she  laughed,  and  said,  "I  don't 
believe  you  ever  gave  the  matter  a  thought.  * ' 

"Just  so.  I  am  a  privileged  mortal,  without  heart 
or  pockets.  When  you  wake  up  and  clap  your  hands 
after  the  coda  of  Mr.  Jack's  symphony,  you  have 
ministered  to  all  his  wants,  and  can  keep  the  rest  to 
yourself,  love,  money,  and  all." 

She     could     no    longer    doubt     that    he     was     in 

earnest:  his  tone  touched  her.     "I  had  no  idea " 

she  began,     "Will  you  tell  me  who  it  is;  or  am  I  not 
to  ask?" 

He  grinned  in  spite  of  himself,  "What  do  you 
think  of  Mrs,  Simpson?"  said  he. 

Mary's  mood  had  taken  so  grave  a  turn  that  she  was 
for  a  moment  unable  to  follow  this  relapse  into  banter. 


262  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"But,"  she  said,  looking  shocked,  "Mr.  Simpson  is 
alive." 

"Hence  my  unhappiness. "  said  Jack,  with  a  snarl, 
disgusted  at  her  entertaining  his  suggestion. 

' '  I  suppose, ' '  she  said  slowly,  after  a  pause  of  some 
moments,  "that  you  mean  to  make  me  feel  that  I  have 
no  business  with  your  private  affairs.  I  did  not 
mean " 

"You  suppose  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  he,  losing 
his  temper.  "When  have  I  concealed  any  of  my 
affairs  from  you?" 

"Then  you  do  not  really  intend  to I  mean,  the 

person  you  said  you  were  in  love  with,  is  a  myth." 

"Pshaw I    I  never  said  I  was  in  love  with  anyone." 

"I  might  have  known  as  much  if  I  had  thought  for 
a  moment.     I  am  very  dull  sometimes." 

This  speech  did  not  satisfy  Jack.  "What  do  you 
mean  by  that?"  he  said  testily.  "Why  might  you 
have  known?  I  never  said  I  was  in  love,  certainly. 
Have  I  said  I  was  not  in  love?" 

"Come,"  she  said  gaily.  "You  shall  not  play 
shuttlecock  with  my  brains  any  longer.  Answer  me 
plainly.     Are  you  in  love?" 

"I  tell  such  things  as  that  to  sincere  friends  only." 

Mary  suddenly  ceased  to  smile,  and  made  no 
reply. 

"Well,  if  you  are  my  friend,  what  the  devil  do  you 
see  in  my  affairs  to  laugh  at?  You  can  be  serious 
enough  with  other  people." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  laugh  at  your  affairs." 

"What  are  you  angry  about?" 

"I  am  not  angry.  A  moment  ago  you  reproached 
me   because    I     thought    you     wished    to    repel    my 


Love  Among  the  Artists  263 

curiosity.  The  reproach  seemed  to  me  to  imply  that 
you  considered  me  a  friend  worthy  of  your  confidence. " 

"So  I  do." 

"And  now  you  tell  me  that  I  am  an  insincere  friend. " 

"I  never  said  anything  of  the  kind." 

"You  implied  it.  However,  there  is  no  reason  why 
you  should  tell  me  anything  unless  you  wish  to.  I  do 
not  complain,  of  course ;  your  affairs  are  your  affairs 
and  not  mine.  But  I  do  not  like  to  be  accused  of 
insincerity.  I  have  always  been  as  sincere  with  you  as 
I  know  how  to  be. " 

For  the  next  minute  Jack  walked  on  in  silence,  with 
his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  and  his  head  bent 
towards  the  ground.  They  were  crossing  a  treeless 
part  of  the  park,  unoccupied  save  by  a  few  sooty 
sheep.  The  afternoon  sun  had  driven  the  loiterers 
into  the  shade;  and  there  was  no  sound  except  a 
distant  rattle  of  traffic  from  the  north,  and  an 
occasional  oarsplash  from  the  south.  Jack  stopped, 
and  said  without  looking  up : 

"Tell  me  this.  Is  all  that  business  between  you  and 
Herbert  broken  off  and  done  with?" 

"Completely." 

"Then  listen  to  me,"  he  said,  taking  an  attitude  in 
which  she  had  seen  him  once  or  twice  before,  when  he 
had  been  illustrating  his  method  of  teaching  elocution. 
"I  am  not  a  man  to  play  the  part  of  a  lover  with 
grace.  Nature  gave  me  a  rough  frame  that  I  might 
contend  the  better  with  a  rough  fortune.  Neverthe- 
less I  have  a  heart  and  affections  like  other  men;  and 
those  affections  have  centred  themselves  on  you." 
Mary  blanched,  and  looked  at  him  in  terror.  "You 
are  accustomed  to   my  ardent  temper;  but  I  do  not 


264  Love  Among  the  Artists 

intend  that  you  shall  suffer  from  bad  habits  of  mine, 
engendered  by  a  life  of  solitude  and  the  long  deferring 
of  my  access,  through  my  music,  to  my  fellow 
creatures.  No:  I  am  aware  of  my  failings,  and  shall 
correct  them.  You  know  my  position ;  and  so  I  shall 
make  no  boast  of  it.  You  may  think  me  incapable  of 
tenderness ;  but  I  am  not :  you  will  never  have  to  com- 
plain that  your  husband  does  not  love  you."  He 
paused,  and  looked  at  Mary's  face. 

She  had  never  had  a  thought  of  marrying  Jack. 
Now  that  he  had  asked  her  to  do  so,  she  felt  that 
refusal  would  cause  a  wound  she  dared  not  inflict:  she 
must  sacrifice  herself  to  his  demand.  To  fill  the  empty 
place  in  Jack's  heart  seemed  to  her  a  duty  laid  on 
her.  She  summoned  all  her  courage  and  endurance 
to  say  yes,  and  consoled  herself  with  the  thought  that 
she  should  not  live  long.  Meanwhile,  Jack  was  read- 
ing her  face. 

' '  I  have  committed  my  last  folly, ' '  he  said,  in  a  stir- 
ring voice,  but  without  any  of  his  habitual  abruptness. 
"Henceforth  I  shall  devote  myself  to  the  only  mistress 
I  am  fitted  for.  Music.  She  has  not  many  such 
masters. 

Mary,  yielding  to  an  extraordinary  emotion,  burst 
into  tears. 

"Come,"  he  said:  "it  is  all  over.  I  did  not  mean 
to  frighten  you.  I  have  broken  with  the  world  now; 
and  my  mind  is  the  clearer  and  the  easier  for  it. 
Why  need  you  cry?" 

She  recovered  herself,  trying  to  find  something  to 
say  to  him.  In  her  disquietude  she  began  to  speak 
before  her  agitation  had  subsided.  "It  is  not,"  she 
said  with  difficulty,   "that  I  am  ungrateful  or  insen- 


Love  Among  the  Artists  265 

sible.  But  you  do  not  know  how  far  you  stand  beyond 
other ' ' 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said  soothingly.  "I  understand. 
You  are  right:  I  have  no  business  in  the  domestic 
world,  and  must  stick  to  music  and  Mrs.  Simpson  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter.  Come  along;  and  think  no 
more  of  it.  I  will  put  you  into  a  cab  and  send  you 
home." 

She  turned  with  him;  and  they  went  together 
towards  the  Marble  Arch :  he  no  longer  moody,  but 
placid  and  benevolent:  she  disturbed,  silent,  and 
afraid  to  meet  his  gaze.  It  was  growing  late.  One 
of  the  religious  congregations  which  hold  their  sum- 
mer meetings  in  the  park  had  assembled;  and  their 
hymn  could  be  heard,  softened  by  distance.  Jack 
hummed  a  bass  to  the  tune,  and  looked  along  the  line 
of  trees  that  shut  out  the  windows  of  Park  Lane,  and 
led  away  to  the  singular  equestrian  statue  which  then 
stood  at  Hyde  Park  Corner. 

"This  is  a  pretty  place,  after  all,"  he  said.  "There 
is  enough  blue  sky  and  green  sward  here  to  com- 
pensate for  a  good  deal  of  brick  and  mortar.  Down 
there  in  the  hollow  there  is  silver  water  with  white 
swans  on  it.  I  wonder  how  the  swans  keep  them- 
selves white.     The  sheep  can't. " 

"Yes,  it  is  an  exquisite  day,"  said  Mary,  trying 
hard  to  interest  herself  in  the  scene,  and  to  speak 
steadily.     "There  will  be  a  fine  sunset." 

"There  is  a  good  view  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
here." 

"Happily,  I  cannot  see  so  far.  But  I  can  imagine 
the  monster  swimming  sooty  in  the  ether." 

"Leave  him  in  peace,"  said  Jack.     "He  is  the  only 


266  Love  Among  the  Artists 

good  statue  in  London :  that  is  why  no  one  has  the 
courage  to  say  a  word  in  his  defence.  His  horse  is 
like  a  real  horse,  with  real  harness.  He  is  not  exposed 
bareheaded  to  the  weather,  but  wears  a  hat  as  any 
other  man  in  the  street  does.  He  is  not  a  stupid 
imitation  of  an  antique  bas  relief.  He  is  characteristic 
of  the  century  that  made  him ;  and  he  is  unique,  as  a 
work  of  art  should  be.  He  is  picturesque  too.  The — 
Come,  come.  Miss  Mary.  You  have  no  more  cause  to 
be  unhappy  than  those  children  tumbling  over  the 
fence  there.     What  are  those  tears  for?" 

"Not  because  I  am  unhappy,"  she  replied  in  a 
broken  voice.  "Perhaps  because  I  have  such  reason 
to  be  proud.    Pray  do  not  mind  me.    I  cannot  help  it." 

They  were  now  close  to  the  Marble  Arch ;  and  Jack 
hurried  on,  that  she  mightthe  sooner  escape  the  staring 
of  the  loungers  there.  Outside,  he  called  a  cab,  and 
assisted  her  to  enter. 

"You  will  never  be  afraid  of  me  any  more,  I  hope," 
he  said,  pressing  her  hand.  She  attempted  to  speak; 
gulped  down  a  sob ;  and  nodded  and  smiled  as  gaily 
as  she  could,  her  tears  falling  meanwhile.  He 
watched  the  cab  until  it  was  no  longer  distinguishable 
among  the  crowd  of  vehicles  in  Oxford  Street,  and 
then  re-entered  the  Park  and  turned  to  the  West, 
which  was  now  beginning  to  glow  with  the  fire  of 
evening.  When  he  reached  the  bridge  beneath  which 
the  Serpentine  of  Hyde  Park  is  supposed  to  become 
the  Long  Water  of  Kensington  Gardens,  he  stopped 
to  see  the  sun  set  behind  the  steeple  of  Bayswater 
Church,  and  to  admire  the  clear  depths  of  hazel 
green  in  the  pools  underneath  the  foliage  on  the  left 
bank.     "/  hanker  for  a.  wife!''  he  said,   as  he  stood 


Love  Among  the  Artists  267 

bolt  upright,  with  his  knuckles  resting  lightly  on  the 
parapet,  and  the  ruddy  gold  of  the  sun  full  in  his 
eyes.  "/  grovel  after  money!  What  dog's  appetites 
have  this  worldly  crew  infected  me  with !  No  matter : 
I  am  free:  I  am  myself  again.  Back  to  thy  holy 
garret,  oh  my  soul!"  And  having  stared  the  sunset 
out  of  countenance,  which  is  soon  done  by  a  man  old 
enough  to  have  hackneyed  the  sentimentality  it 
inspires,  he  walked  steadfastly  away,  his  mood 
becoming  still  more  tranquil  as  the  evening  fell  darker. 

On  reaching  Church  Street,  he  called  for  Mrs. 
Simpson ;  gave  her  a  number  of  postage  stamps  which 
he  had  just  purchased;  and  ordered  her  to  write  in  his 
name  to  all  his  pupils  postponing  their  lessons  until 
he  should  write  to  them  again.  Being  an  indifferent 
speller  and  a  slovenly  writer,  she  grumbled  that  he 
was  risking  his  income  by  treating  his  pupils  so 
cavalierly.  It  was  his  custom  to  meet  her  remon- 
strances, even  when  he  acted  on  them,  with  oaths  and 
abuse.  This  evening  he  let  her  say  what  she  wished, 
meanwhile  arranging  his  table  to  write  at.  His 
patience  was  so  far  from  appeasing  her  that  she  at 
last  ventured  to  say  that  she  would  not  write  his 
letters  and  turn  good  money  away. 

"You  will  do  as  you  are  told,"  he  said;  "for  the 
devils  also  believe  and  tremble."  And  with  that 
explanation,  he  bade  her  make  him  some  coffee,  and 
put  her  out  of  the  room. 

Whilst  Mary  was  being  driven  home  from  the  park, 
she  was  for  some  time  afraid  that  she  must  succumb 
publicly  to  a  fit  of  hysterics.  But  after  a  few  painful 
minutes,  her  throat  relaxed;  a  feeling  of  oppression 
at  her  chest  ceased ;  and  when  the  cab  stopped  at  Mr. 


268  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Phipson's  house,  she  was  able  to  offer  the  fare  com- 
posedly to  the  driver,  who  refused  it,  saying  that  the 
gentleman  had  paid  it  in  advance.  She  then  went 
upstairs  to  her  own  room  to  weep.  When  she  arrived 
there,  however,  she  found  that  she  had  no  more  tears 
to  shed.  She  went  to  the  mirror,  and  stood  motion- 
less before  it.  It  showed  her  a  face  expressing  deep 
grief.  She  looked  pityingly  at  it ;  and  it  look  back  at 
her  with  intensified  dolor.  This  lasted  for  more  than 
a  minute,  during  which  she  conveyed  such  a  pro- 
fundity of  sadness  into  her  face  that  she  had  no  atten- 
tion to  spare  for  the  lightening  of  her  heart  which  was 
proceeding  rapidly  meanwhile.  Then  her  nostrils 
gave  a  sudden  twitch;  she  burst  out  laughing;  and 
the  self-reproach  which  followed  this  outrage  on  senti- 
ment did  not  prevent  her  from  immediately  laughing 
all  the  more. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  seizing  a  jug  of  cold  water 
and  emptying  it  with  a  splash  into  a  basin,  "it  is  not 
more  ridiculous  to  laugh  at  nothing  than  to  look 
miserable  about  it."  So  she  washed  away  the  traces 
her  tears  had  left,  and  went  down  to  dinner  as  gaily  as 
usual. 

A  fortnight  elapsed,  during  which  she  heard  nothing 
of  Jack,  and  sometimes  thought  that  she  had  done 
better  when  she  had  cried  at  his  declaration,  than 
when  she  had  laughed  at  her  own  emotion.  Then,  one 
evening,  Mr.  Phipson  announced  that  the  Antient 
Orpheus  Society  were  about  to  make  an  important 
acquisition — "one,"  said  he,  looking  at  Mary,  "that 
will  specially  interest  you." 

"Something  by  old  Jack?"  said  Charlie,  who  was 
dining  there  that  day. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  269 

•*A  masterpiece  by  him,  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Phipson. 
"He  has  written  to  say  that  he  has  composed  music  to 
the  'Prometheus  Unbound'  of  Shelley:  four  scenes 
with  chorus ;  a  dialogue  of  Prometheus  with  the  earth ; 
an  antiphony  of  the  earth  and  moon;  an  overture; 
and  a  race  of  the  hours," 

"Shelley!"  exclaimed  Mary  incredulously. 

"I  should  have  thought  that  Dr.  Johnson  was  the 
proper  poet  for  Jack, ' '  said  Charlie. 

"It  is  a  magnificent  subject,"  continued  Mr.  Phip- 
son; "and  if  he  has  done  justice  to  it,  the  work  will  be 
the  crowning  musical  achievement  of  this  century.  I 
have  no  doubt  whatever  that  he  has  succeeded ;  for  he 
says  himself  that  his  music  is  the  complement  of  the 
poetry,  and  fully  worthy  of  it.  He  would  never 
venture  so  say  so  if  he  were  not  conscious  of  having 
done  something  almost  stupendous." 

"Modesty  never  was  one  of  his  failings,"  remarked 
Charlie. 

"I  feel  convinced  that  the  music  will  be — will  be — " 
said  Mr.  Phipson,  waving  his  hand,  and  seeking  an 
expressive  word,  "will  be  something  apocalyptic,  if  I 
may  use  the  term.  We  have  agreed  to  offer  him  five 
hundred  pounds  for  the  copyright,  with  the  exclusive 
privilege  of  performance  in  the  British  Isles;  and  we 
have  reason  to  believe  that  he  will  accept  this  offer. 
Considering  that  the  music  will  doubtless  be  very 
difficult,  and  will  involve  the  expense  of  a  chorus  and 
an  enlarged  band,  with  several  rehearsals,  it  is  a  fairly 
liberal  offer.  Maclagan  objected,  of  course;  and 
some  of  the  others  suggested  three  hundred  and  fifty ; 
but  I  insisted  on  five  hundred.  We  could  not 
decently  offer  less.     Besides,  the  Modern  Orpheus  will 


270  Love  Among  the  Artists 

try  to  snatch  the  work  from  us.  The  overture  is 
actually  in  the  hands  of  the  copyist ;  and  the  rest  will 
be  complete  in  a  month  at  latest. ' ' 

"Certainly  you  must  have  more  money  than  you 
know  what  to  do  with,  if  you  are  going  to  pay  five 
hundred  pounds  for  a  thing  you  have  never  seen,"  said 
Mrs.  Phipson. 

"We  shall  pay  it  without  the  least  mistrust, "  said 
Mr.  Phipson  pompously.  "Jack  is  a  great  composer: 
one  whose  rugged  exterior  conceals  a  wonderful  gift, 
as  a  pearl  is  protected  by  an  oyster  shell. " 

"But  he  cannot  possibly  have  composed  the  whole 
work  in  a  fortnight,"  said  Mary. 

"Of  course  not.  What  makes  you  suggest  a  fort- 
night?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Mary.  "At  least,  I  heard  that  he 
had  given  no  lessons  during  the  past  fortnight." 

"He  has  been  planning  it  for  a  long  time,  you  may 
depend  upon  it.  Still,  there  are  instances  of  extra- 
ordinary expedition  in  musical  composition.  The 
Messiah  was  completed  by  Handel  in  twenty-one  days; 
and  Mozart " 

Mr.  Phipson  went  on  to  relate  anecdotes  of  overtures 
and  whole  acts  added  to  operas  in  one  night.  He  was 
a  diligent  concert  goer,  and  always  read  the  analytical 
programmes  carefully,  so  that  he  had  a  fund  of  such 
tales,  more  or  less  authentic,  to  relate.  Mary,  who 
had  heard  most  of  them  before,  looked  attentive  and 
let  her  thoughts  wander. 

Some  days  later,  however,  when  Mary  asked  for 
further  news  of  "Prometheus  Unbound,"  she  found 
his  tone  changed.  On  being  pressed  he  admitted  that 
he  had  induced  the  Antient  Orpheus  Society  to  make 


Love  Among  the  Artists  271 

a  doubtful  bargain.  The  overture  and  two  of  the 
scenes  had  been  completed  and  delivered  to  the 
society  by  Jack;  and  no  one,  said  Mr.  Phipson,  had 
been  able  to  contradict  Maclagan's  verdict  that  "the 
music,  most  fortunately,  was  inexecutable. "  A  letter 
had  been  carefully  drawn  up  to  inform  Jack  as  gently 
as  possible  of  the  fate  of  his  work.  "So  prodigious," 
it  said,  "were  the  technical  difficulties  of  the  work; 
so  large  and  expensive  the  forces  required  to  present 
it  adequately;  and  so  doubtful  the  prospect  of  its 
acceptance  by  a  miscellaneous  audience  in  the  existing 
condition  of  public  taste,  that  the  Committee  were 
obliged  to  confess,  with  deep  regret,  that  they  dared 
not  make  arrangements  for  its  early  production.  If 
Mr.  Jack  had  by  him  any  more  practicable  composition, 
however  short  it  might  fall  of  the  'Prometheus'  in 
point  of  vastness  of  design,  they  would  be  willing  to 
permit  of  its  being  substituted  without  prejudice  to 
those  conditions  in  their  agreement  which  had  been 
inserted  in  the  interest  of  the  composer. ' ' 

To  this  Jack  had  replied  that  they  should  have 
"Prometheus"  or  nothing;  that  there  was  not  a  note 
in  the  score  which  was  not  practicable  with  a  reason- 
able degree  of  trouble;  that  he  could  find  no  prec- 
edents on  which  to  base  the  slightest  regard  for  the 
sagacity  of  the  Society;  that  he  cared  not  one  demi- 
semi-quaver  whether  they  held  to  their  bargain  or 
not,  as  he  would  find  no  difficulty  in  disposing  of  his 
work;  and  that  he  insisted  on  their  either  returning 
the  score  at  once,  or  paying  the  first  installment  of  five 
hundred  pounds  for  it,  as  agreed  upon.  He  added  in 
a  postscript  that  if  they  accepted  the  work,  he  should 
require  strict   fulfilment  of   the    clause   binding    the 


272  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Society  to  one  public  performance  of  it  in  London. 
The  Society,  which  was  old  enough  to  have  shelved 
certain  works  purchased  from  Beethoven  for  similar 
reasons  to  those  given  to  Jack,  hesitated;  quarrelled 
internally;  and  at  last  resolved  to  hold  a  private 
rehearsal  of  the  overture  before  deciding.  Manlius 
made  earnest  efforts  to  comprehend  and  like  this 
section  of  the  work,  which  was  to  occupy  half  an  hour 
in  performance,  and  was,  in  fact,  a  symphony.  He 
only  partially  succeeded;  and  he  found  the  task  of 
conducting  the  rehearsal  unusually  disagreeable.  The 
players,  confident  and  willing,  did  wonders  in  ^  the 
estimation  of  Maclagan ;  but  the  first'repetition  broke 
down  twice ;  and  those  who  were  at  fault  lost  temper 
and  cursed  mutinously  within  hearing  of  Manlius, 
who  was  himself  confused  and  angry.  When  it  was 
over  at  last,  a  dubious  murmur  rose  from  the  stalls 
where  the  Committee  sat  in  judgment;  and  a  few  of 
the  older  members  protested  against  a  second  trial. 
These  were  over-ruled ;  and  the  overture  was  repeated, 
this  time  without  any  stoppage. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Phipson,  describing  his 
sensations  to  Mary,  "it  contained  grand  traits.  But 
these  were  only  glimpses  of  form  in  the  midst  of 
chaos.  I  had  to  give  in  to  Maclagan  by  acknowledg- 
ing that  the  most  favorable  account  I  could  give  of  it 
was  that  it  impressed  me  as  might  the  aberrations  of 
a  demented  giant.  He  was  quite  frantic  about  it,  and 
fairly  talked  us  down  with  examples  of  false  relations 
and  incorrect  progressions  from  every  bar  of  the  score. 
Old  Brailsford,  who  is  one  of  the  old  committee, 
turned  up  for  the  first  time  these  four  years  expressly 
to  support  Jack's  interests.     He  said  it  was  the  most 


Love  Among  the  Artists  273 

infernal  conglomeration  of  sounds  he  had  ever  listened 
to;  and  I  must  say  many  of  us  privately  agreed  with 
him." 

This  conversation  took  place  at  the  dinner  table,  and 
was  prolonged  by  Mrs.  Phipson,  who  taunted  her 
husband  with  his  disregard  of  her  warning  not  to  pay 
five  hundred  pounds  for  what  she  termed  a  pig  in  a 
poke.  She  was  a  talkative  woman,  shallow,  jolly,  and 
unscrupulous,  with  a  shrewd  and  selfish  side  to  her 
character  which  indulgent  people  never  saw.  Mary 
saw  it  clearly ;  and  as,  to  her  taste,  Mrs.  Phipson  was 
vulgar,  she  was  not  very  fond  of  her,  and  often  felt 
indignant  at  her  ridicule  of  her  husband's  boastful  but 
sincere  love  of  music.  On  this  occasion,  seeing  that 
Mr.  Phipson  was  getting  sulky,  and  that  his  wife  was 
perversely  minded  to  make  him  worse,  she  left  the 
table  quietly  without  waiting  for  her  hostess,  and  went 
upstairs  alone  to  the  drawing-room.  There,  to  her 
surprise,  she  found  a  strange  man,  lounging  on  a  sofa 
with  an  album  in  his  hands. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mary,  retreating. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  man,  rising  in  disorder.  "I 
hope  I'm  not  in  the  way.     Miss  Sutherland,  perhaps." 

'"Yes,"  said  Mary  coldly;  for  she  could  not  see  him 
distinctly,  and  his  manner  of  addressing  her,  though  a 
little  confused,  struck  her  as  being  too  familiar. 

"Very  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Miss 
Sutherland.  Nanny  wrote  me  word  that  you  were 
staying  here,  I  recognize  you  by  your  photograph 
too.  I  hope  I  don't  disturb  you."  He  added  this 
doubtfully,  her  attitude  being  still  anything  but 
reassuring. 

"Not  at  all,"   said  Mary,   taking  the  nearest  seat, 


274  Love  Among  the  Artists 

which  happened  to  be  a  piece  of  furniture  shaped  like 
the  letter  S,  with  a  seat  in  each  loop,  so  that  the 
occupants,  placed  opposite  one  another,  could  converse 
at  their  ease  across  the  rail.  She  then  settled  her 
glasses  deliberately  upon  her  nose,  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  certain  hardihood  of  manner  which  came  to  her 
whenever  she  was  seized  with  nervousness,  and  was 
determined  not  to  give  way  to  it.  He  was  a  tall, 
jovial  looking  man,  not  yet  quite  middle-aged,  stout, 
or  florid,  but,  as  she  judged,  within  five  years  at  most 
of  being  all  three.  He  had  sandy  hair,  and  a  red 
beard  cleft  into  two  long  whiskers  of  the  shape 
formerly  known  to  fashion  as  "weepers."  His  expres- 
sion was  good-natured,  and,  at  this  moment,  con- 
ciliatory, as  though  he  wished  to  disarm  any  further 
stiffness  on  her  part.  But  she  thought  she  saw  also 
signs  of  admiration  in  his  eyes;  and  she  continued  to 
gaze  at  him  inflexibly.  He  looked  wistfully  at  the 
conversation  chair,  but  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  leaning 
forward  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 

"This  is  a  very  convenient  neighborhood,  isn't  it?" 
he  said. 

"Very." 

"Yes.  I  am  sure  you  must  find  it  so.  You  are 
within  easy  distance  of  both  the  parks,  and  all  the 
theatres.  Kensington  is  too  far  out  of  the  way  for  my 
fancy.  How  long  does  it  take  to  go  from  here  to 
Covent  Garden  Market  now,  for  instance?" 

"I  am  sorry  I  cannot  tell  you,"  said  Mary  calmly, 
looking  at  him  with  unflinching  eyes:  "I  never  go 
there. '  * 

"Indeed?  I  wonder  at  that.  You  can  get 
tremendous     bargains     in     flowers,     I     believe,    if 


Love  Among  the  Artists  275 

you  go  there  early  in  the  morning.  Do  you  like 
flowers?" 

"  I  do  not  share  the  fashionable  mania  for  cut  flowers. 
I  like  gardening. 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  Miss  Sutherland.  I  often 
think,  when  I  see  every  little  vase  or  niknak  in  a  room 
stuffed  with  tulips  and  lilies  and  things,  what  a  want 
of  real  taste  it  shews.  I  was  looking  at  that  beautiful 
painting  over  the  music  stand  just  before  you  came 
in.     May  I  ask  is  it  one  of  yours?" 

"Yes.  If  you  look  closely  at  it  you  will  see  my  name 
written  in  large  vermilion  letters  in  the  left  hand 
corner." 

*'I  saw  it.  That's  how  I  knew  it  to  be  yours.  It's 
a  capital  picture :  I  often  regret  that  I  never  learned 
to  paint,  though  I  know  I  should  never  have  done  it 
half  as  well  as  you.  It's  a  very  nice  occupation  for 
a  lady.     It  is  mere  child's  play  to  you,  I  suppose." 

"I  have  given  it  up  because  I  find  it  too  difficult." 

"But  nobody  could  do  it  better  than  you.  How- 
ever, it  runs  away  with  your  time,  no  doubt.  Still, 
if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  give  it  up  altogether." 

"You  are  fond  of  pictures,  I  presume." 

"Yes.  I  have  a  great  taste  for  them.  I  go  to  the 
National  Gallery  whenever  I  come  to  London,  to  have 
a  look  at  Landseer's  pictures.  I  sometimes  see  young 
ladies  copying  the  pictures  there.  Did  you  ever  copy 
one  of  Landieer's?" 

"No.  Strange  as  it  may  appear  to  you,  there  are 
some  pictures  there  which  I  prefer  to  Landseer's." 

"You  understand  the  old  masters,  you  see.  I  don't, 
unfortunately.  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  talk  to  you 
about  them ;  but  if  I  tried  it  on,  you  would  find  out 


276  Love  Among  the  Artists 

in  no  time  that  I  know  nothing  about  it.  Put  me  into 
a  gallery,  and  I  can  tell  you  what  pictures  I  like: 
that's  about  as  far  as  I  can  go." 

"I  wish  I  could  go  as  far." 

"I  am  afraid  you  are  chaffing  me,  Miss  Sutherland." 

Mary  did  not  condescend  to  reply.  The  strange 
man,  now  somewhat  discomfited,  rose  and  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  fireplace,  as  if  to  warm  himself  at  the 
Japanese  umbrella  that  protruded  from  it. 

"Beautiful  weather,"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"Very  beautiful  indeed,"  she  replied,  gravely. 
Then,  to  prevent  herself  from  laughing  at  him,  "Have 
you  been  long  in  London?" 

"Arrived  yesterday  morning,"  he  said,  brightening. 
"I  came  straight  from  New  York  via  Liverpool.  I'm 
always  traveling.     Have  you  ever  been  to  the  States?" 

"No." 

"You  should  go  there  and  see  what  real  life  is. 
We're  all  asleep  here.  I  only  left  England  last 
March;  and  I've  started  six  branches  of  our  com- 
pany since  that,  besides  obtaining  judgment  against 
two  scoundrels  who  infringed  our  patent.  Quick 
work  that." 

"Is  it?" 

"I  should  think  so.  It  would  have  taken  two  years 
to  do  here.  More:  five  years  perhaps.  The  Ameri- 
cans don't  resist  a  new  thing  as  we  do.  But  no  matter. 
Unless  they  look  alive  here,  they  will  be  driven  out 
of  the  market  by  foreign  manufacturers  using  our 
cheap  power." 

"Your  cheap  power!     What  is  that?" 

"I  thought  you  knew.  Why,  the  Conolly  electro- 
motor, which  will  drive  any  machinery  at  half — aye, 


Love  Among  the  Artists  277 

at  a  quarter  the  cost  of  steam.  You  have  heard  of  it, 
of  course." 

*'I  think  so.  I  have  met  Mr.  Conolly.  He  does  not 
seem  like  a  man  who  could  do  anything  badly." 

"Badly!  I  should  think  not.  He's  an  amazing 
man.  They  talk  of  Seth  Jones's  motor;  and  Van 
Print  claims  to  be  the  original  inventor  of  Conolly's 
commutator.  But  they  are  a  couple  of  thieves. 
I  can  shew  you  the  report  of  Conolly  versus  the 
Pacific " 

"Johnny!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Phipson,  entering.  "I 
thought  it  was  your  voice." 

"How  d'ye  do,  Nan?"  said  he.  "How  are  the 
bairns?" 

"Oh,  we're  all  first  rate.  Have  you  been  here 
long?" 

"It  seems  only  half  a  minute,  Miss  Sutherland  has 
been  entertaining  me  so  pleasantly."  And  he  winked 
and  frowned  at  Mrs.  Phipson,  to  intimate  that  he 
desired  to  be  introduced. 

"Then  you  know  each  other  already,"  she  said. 
"This  is  my  brother,  Mr,  Hoskyn.  I  hope  you  have 
not  been  bothering  Mary  with  your  electro  business." 

"Mr,  Hoskyn  was  giving  me  a  most  interesting 
account  of  it  when  you  came  in,"  said  Mary. 

"You  can  finish  it  some  other  time,"  said  Mrs, 
Phipson.  "Inflict  it  on  the  next  person  who  has  the 
misfortune  to  get  shut  into  a  railway  carriage  with 
you.     When  did  you  come  back?" 

Mr.  Hoskyn  glanced  apprehensively  at  Mary,  and 
did  not  seem  to  like  his  sister's  remark,  though  he 
laughed  good-humoredly  at  it.  The  conversation  then 
turned  upon  his  recent  movements ;  the  length  of  time 


278  Love  Among  the  Artists 

he  expected  to  remain  in  London;  and  so  forth. 
Mary  gathered  that  he  had  invested  money  in  the 
Conolly  Electro-Motor  Company,  and  that  he  occupied 
himself  in  travelling  to  countries  where  the  electro- 
motor was  as  yet  unknown;  establishing  companies 
for  its  exploitation ;  and  making  them  pay  for  the  right 
to  use  it.  Mrs.  Phipson  was  evidently  tired  of  the 
subject,  and  made  several  attempts  to  prevent  his 
dwelling  on  it;  but,  in  spite  of  her,  he  boasted  a  good 
deal  of  the  superiority  of  Conolly 's  invention,  and 
abused  and  predicted  ruin  for  certain  other  companies 
which  had  been  set  on  foot  to  promote  rival  projects. 
He  was  effectually  interrupted  at  last  by  the  appearance 
of  the  younger  children,  who  were  excited  by  the 
arrival  of  Uncle  Johnnie;  and,  Mary  thought,  looked 
forward  to  being  the  richer  for  his  visit.  Mr. 
Hoskyn's  attention  to  them,  however,  flagged  after 
the  first  few  minutes;  and  Mrs.  Phipson,  who  was 
always  impatient  of  her  children's  presence,  presently 
bade  them  go  and  tell  their  father  that  Uncle  Johnnie 
had  come.  They  were,  she  added,  on  no  account  to 
return  to  the  drawing-room.  Their  faces  lengthened 
at  this  dismissal;  but  they  did  not  venture  to  dis- 
regard it.  Then  Mr.  Phipson  came ;  and  his  brother- 
in-law  said  much  to  him  of  what  he  had  said  before. 
Mary  took  no  part  in  the  conversation;  but  she 
occupied  a  considerable  share  of  Mr.  Hoskyn's  atten- 
tion. Whenever  he  pronounced  an  opinion,  or  cracked 
a  joke,  he  glanced  at  her  to  see  whether  she  approved 
of  it,  and  always  found  her  in  the  same  attitude,  self- 
possessed,  with  her  upper  lip  lifted  a  little  from  her 
teeth  by  the  poise  of  her  head,  which  she  held  well 
up  in  order  to  maintain  her  glasses  in  their  position ; 


Love  Among  the  Artists  279 

and  by  a  slight  contraction  of  her  brows  to  shade  her 
eyes  from  the  superfluous  rays, 

"I  need  hardly  ask  whether  Miss  Sutherland  sings," 
he  said,  when  he  had  repeated  all  his  news  to  Mr. 
Phipson. 

"Very  seldom,"  replied  his  sister.  Now  Mary  had 
a  powerful  and  rather  strident  contralto  voice,  which 
enabled  her  to  sing  dramatic  music  with  startling 
expression  and  energy.  Mrs.  Phipson,  who  did  not 
like  these  qualities,  said  "Very  seldom,"  in  order  to 
deter  her  brother  from  pressing  his  suggestion.  But 
Mr.  Phipson,  who  relished  Mary's  performances,  and 
was  also  fond  of  playing  accompaniments,  immediately 
went  to  the  piano,  and  opened  it. 

"I  would  give  anything  to  hear  you, "  said  Hoskyn, 
*'if  you  will  condescend  to  sing  for  such  an  ignorant 
audience  as  me.  * ' 

' '  I  had  much  rather  not, ' '  said  Mary,  shewing  signs 
of  perturbation  for  the  first  time.  "I  sing  nothing 
that  would  amuse  you. ' ' 

"Of  course  not,"  said  he.  "I  know  you  don't  sing 
ballads  and  such  trash.  Something  Italian,  I  should 
like  to  hear. ' ' 

"Come,"  said  Mr.  Phipson.  "Give  us  *Che  faro 
senza  Euridice, '  ' '     And  he  began  to  play  it. 

Mary,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  resigned  herself, 
and  went  to  the  instrument.  Mrs.  Phipson  sighed. 
Hoskyn  sat  down  on  the  ottoman;  leaned  attentively 
forward;  and  smiled  continuously  until  the  song  was 
over,  when  he  cried  with  enthusiasm: 

"Bravo!  Splendid,  splendid!  You  are  quite  equal 
to  any  professional  singer  I  ever  heard,  Miss  Suther- 
land.    There  is  nothing  like  real  Italian  music  after 


28o  Love  Among  the  Artists 

all.  Thank  you  very  much :  I  cannot  remember  when 
I  enjoyed  anything  half  so  well" 

"It  is  not  Italian  music,"  said  Mary,  resuming  her 
former  attitude  in  the  causeuse.  "It  is  German  music 
with  Italian  words." 

"It  might  as  well  be  Chinese  music  for  all  he  knows 
about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Phipson  spitefully. 

"I  know  that  I  enjoyed  it  thoroughly,  at  any  rate," 
said  Hoskyn.  "I  have  taken  such  a  fancy  to  that 
picture  on  the  wall  that  I  should  like  to  see  some  of 
your  sketches,  if  you  will  favor  me  so  far. ' ' 

Mary  felt  bound  to  be  civil  to  Mrs.  Phipson's 
brother:  else  she  might  have  lost  patience  with  Mr. 
Hoskyn.  "My  sketches  are  in  that  book,"  she  said, 
pointing  to  a  portfolio.  "But  they  are  not  intended 
for  show  purposes ;  and  if  you  have  no  real  curiosity  to 
see  them,  pray  do  not  be  at  the  trouble  of  turning 
them  over.  I  do  not  paint  for  the  sake  of  displaying 
an  extra  accomplishment." 

"I  quite  understand  that.  It  is  as  natural  to  you  to 
do  all  these  things  as  it  is  to  me  to  walk  or  sleep.  You 
can  hardly  think  how  much  pleasure  a  song  or  a 
sketch  gives  to  me,  because,  you  see,  they  are  every- 
day things  with  you,  whereas  I  could  no  more  paint 
or  sing  in  Italian  than  little  Nettie  upstairs.  So,  if 
you'll  allow  me,  I'll  take  a  peep.  If  I  bring  them 
over  here,  you  can  shew  them  to  me  better. "  And, 
on  this  pretext,  he  got  into  the  causeuse  with  her  at 
last. 

"Fool!"  commented  Mrs.  Phipson  through  her  teeth 
to  Mr.  Phipson,  who  smiled,  and  strummed  on  the 
piano.  Hoskyn  meanwhile  examined  the  sketches  one 
by  one ;  demanded  a  particular  account  of  each ;  and, 


Love  Among  the  Artists  281 

when  they  represented  places  at  which  he  had  been, 
related  such  circumstances  of  his  visit  as  he  could 
recollect,  usually  including  the  date,  the  hotel  charges, 
and  particulars  of  his  fellow  travellers;  as,  for 
instance,  that  there  were  two  Italian  ladies  staying 
there ;  or  that  a  lot  of  Russians  took  the  whole  of  the 
first  floor,  and  were  really  very  polite  people  when 
you  came  to  know  them.  Mary  answered  his  ques- 
tions patiently,  and  occasionally,  when  he  appealed  to 
her  for  confirmation  of  his  opinions,  gave  him  a  cool 
nod,  after  each  of  which  he  grew  more  pleased  and 
talkative.  He  praised  her  drawings  extravagantly; 
and  she,  seeing  that  the  worst  satisfied  him  as  well  as 
the  best,  made  no  further  attempt  to  deprecate  his 
admiration,  listening  to  it  with  self-possessed  indiffer- 
ence. Mrs.  Phipson  yawned  conspicuously  all  the 
time.  Failing  to  move  him  by  this  means,  she  at  last 
asked  him  whether  he  would  take  supper  with  them, 
or  return  at  once  to  wherever  he  was  staying.  He 
replied  that  he  was  staying  round  the  corner  at  the 
Langham  Hotel,  and  that  he  would  wait  for  supper, 
to  which  Mrs.  Phipson  assented  with  a  bad  grace. 
Just  then  Mary,  hearing  screams  from  the  nursery 
pretended  that  she  wished  to  see  what  was  the  matter, 
and  left  the  room.  She  did  not  return ;  and  Hoskyn, 
on  going  down  to  supper,  was  informed,  to  his  heavy 
disappointment,  that  she  never  partook  of  that  meal. 

"So  you  might  have  saved  yourself  the  trouble  of 
staying,  after  all,"  said  Mrs.  Phipson.  "Will  you 
have  a  wing  or  a  bit  of  the  breast?" 

"Anything,  please.  On  my  soul,  Phipson,  I  think 
she  is  the  nicest  girl  I  ever  met.  She  is  really  very 
handsome." 


282  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Handsome!"  cried  Mrs.  Phipson,  indignantly. 
"Don't  be  a  fool,  Johnny." 

"Why?     Don't  you  think  she  is?" 

"She  isn't  even  plain:  she  is  downright  ugly." 

"Oh  come,  Nanny  I  That  is  a  little  too  much. 
What  fault  can  you  find  with  her  face?" 

"What  fault  is  there  that  I  cannot  find?  To  say 
nothing  of  her  features,  which  even  you  can  hardly 
defend,  look  at  her  coarse  black  hair  and  thick  eye- 
brows.    And  then  she  wears  spectacles." 

"No.  Not  spectacles.  Only  nosers,  Nanny.  They 
are  quite  the  fashion  now." 

"Well,  whatever  you  choose  to  call  them.  If  you  con- 
sider a  pince-nez  ornamental,  your  taste  is  peculiar." 

"I  agree  with  yo^l^  John,"  said  Mr.  Phipson.  "I 
admire  Mary  greatly. ' ' 

"If  she  were  twice  as  handsome,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Phipson,  as  Hoskyn's  eyes  brightened  triumphantly, 
"it  would  be  none  the  better  for  you.  She  is 
engaged." 

Hoskyn  looked  at  her  in  dismay.  Mr.  Phipson 
seemed  surprised. 

"Engaged  to  Adrian  Herbert,  the  artist,"  continued 
Mrs.  Phipson,  "who  can  talk  to  her  about  high  art 
until  she  fancies  him  the  greatest  genius  in  England: 
not  like  you,  who  think  yourself  very  clever  when  you 
have  spent  an  hour  in  shewing  her  that  you  know 
nothing  about  it. ' ' 

"My  dear,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Phipson:  "that 
business  with  Herbert  is  all  broken  off.  You  should 
be  a  little  careful.  He  is  going  to  be  married  to 
Szczympliga. " 

"You  may  believe  as  much  of  that  as  you  please," 


Love  Among  the  Artists  283 

said  Mrs.  Phipson,  "Even  supposing  that  she  really 
is  done  with  Herbert,  there  is  Jack.  A  nice  chance 
you  have  Johnny,  with  the  greatest  lion  in  London 
for  a  rival. ' ' 

"Annie,"  said  Mr,  Phipson:  "you  are  talking  reck- 
lessly. There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  there  is 
anything  between  Mary  and  Jack.  Jack  is  not — in 
that  sense,  at  least — a  ladies'  man. ' ' 

"As  to  that,"  said  Hoskyn,  "I  will  take  my  chance 
beside  any  artist  that  ever  walked  on  two  legs.  They 
can  talk  to  her  about  things  that  I  may  not  be  exactly 
au  fait  at;  but,  for  the  matter  of  that,  if  /  chose  to 
talk  shop,  I  could  tell  her  a  few  things  that  she  would 
be  a  long  time  finding  out  from  them.  No,  Nanny : 
the  question  is,  Is  she  engaged?  If  she  is,  then  I'm 
off;  and  there's  an  end  of  the  business.  If  not,  I 
guess  I'll  try  and  see  some  more  of  her,  in  spite  of  all 
the  painters  and  musicians  in  creation.  So,  which 
is  it?" 

"She  is  quite  free,"  said  Mr.  Phipson.  "She  was 
engaged  to  Herbert ;  but  it  was  an  old  arrangement, 
made  when  they  were  children,  I  believe ;  and  at  all 
events  it  was  given  up  some  time  ago.  I  think  there 
will  be  a  little  money  too,  John.  And  I  fancy  from 
her  manner  that  she  was  struck  with  you."  Mr. 
Phipson  winked  at  his  wife,  and  laughed. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Hosk)^;  "but  I 
am  out-and-out  struck  with  her.  As  to  money,  that 
needn't  stand  in  the  way,  though  I  shan't  object  to 
take  whatever  is  going. ' ' 

"You  are  so  particularly  well  suited  to  a  girl  who 
cares  for  nothing  but  fine  art  crazes  of  which  you 
don't  even   know  the   names,"    said    Mrs.     Phipson 


284  Love  Among  the  Artists 

sourly,  "that  she  will  jump  at  your  offer,  no  doubt. 
It  is  no  wonder  for  her  to  be  shortsighted,  she  reads 
so  much.  And  she  knows  half  the  languages  of 
Europe." 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Hoskyn.  "You  can  see 
intellect  in  her  face.  That's  the  sort  of  woman  I  like. 
None  of  your  empty  headed  wax  dolls.  I'm  not  sur- 
prised that  you  don't  approve  of  her,  Nanny.  You  are 
sharp  enough;  but  you  never  knew  anything,  and 
never  will. ' ' 

"I  don't  pretend  to  be  clever.  And  I  don't  disap- 
prove of  her;  but  I  disapprove  of  you,  at  your  age, 
thinking  of  a  girl  who  is  in  every  way  unfit  for  you." 

"We  shall  see  all  about  that.  I  am  quite  content  to 
take  my  chance,  if  she  is.  She  can't  live  on  high  art; 
and  I  expect  she  is  sensible  enough  in  everyday 
matters.  Besides,  I  shall  not  interfere  with  her.  The 
more  she  paints  and  sings,  the  better  pleased  I  shall 
be." 

"Hear,  hear,"  said  Mr.  Phipson.  "Let  us  see 
about  a  licence  at  once.  The  season  will  be  over  in 
three  weeks ;  and  of  course  you  would  prefer  to  be 
married  before  then. ' ' 

"Chaff  away,"  said  Hoskyn,  rising.  "I  must  be  off 
now.  You  may  expect  to  see  me  pretty  soon  again; 
and  if  you  don't  hear  people  wondering  next  season 
how  Johnny  Hoskyn  managed  to  get  such  a  clever 
wife — why,  I  shall  be  worse  disappointed  than  you. 
Goodnight." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

During  the  remaining  weeks  of  the  season,  Mary 
witnessed  a  series  of  entertainments  of  a  kind  quite 
new  to  her.  Since  her  childhood  she  had  never  visited 
the  Crystal  Palace  except  for  the  Saturday  afternoon 
classical  concerts.  Now  she  spent  a  whole  day  there 
with  Mr.  Hoskyn,  his  sister,  and  the  children,  and 
waited  for  the  display  of  fireworks.  She  saw  acrobats, 
conjurors,  Christy  Minstrels,  panoramas,  and  shows  of 
cats,  goats,  and  dairy  implements;  and  she  felt  half 
ashamed  of  herself  for  enjoying  them.  She  went  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  to  a  circus,  to  a  music  hall, 
and  to  athletic  sports  at  Lillie  Bridge.  After  the 
athletic  sports,  she  went  up  the  river  in  a  cheap  excur- 
sion steamer  to  Hampton  Court,  where  she  hardly 
looked  at  the  pictures,  and  occupied  herself  solely 
with  the  other  objects  of  interest,  which  she  had 
neglected  on  previous  visits.  Finally  she  went  to 
Madame  Tussaud's. 

Hoskyn  had  proposed  all  these  amusements  on 
behalf  of  the  children ;  and  it  was  supposed  that  Mary 
and  Mrs.  Phipson,  on  going  to  them,  were  good- 
naturedly  co-operating  with  Uncle  Johnny  to  make  the 
little  Phipsons  happy.  In  the  character  of  Uncle 
Johnny,  Hoskyn  frequented  the  house  in  Cavendish 
Square  at  all  hours,  and  was  soon  on  familiar  terms 
with  Mary.  He  was  good  humored,  and  apparently 
quite  satisfied  with  himself.     In  arranging  excursions, 

285 


286  Love  Among  the  Artists 

procuring  and  paying  for  vehicles,  spying  out  and 
pushing  his  way  to  seats  left  accidentally  vacant  in  the 
midst  of  packed  audiences,  looking  after  the  children, 
and  getting  as  much  value  as  possible  for  his  money 
on  every  occasion,  he  was  never  embarrassed  or 
inefficient.  He  was  very  inquisitive,  and  took  every 
opportunity  of  entering  into  conversation  with  railway 
officials,  steamboat  captains,  cabmen,  and  policemen, 
and  learning  from  them  all  about  their  various 
occupations.  When  this  habit  of  his  caused  him  to 
neglect  Mary  for  a  while,  he  never  pestered  her  with 
apologies,  and  always  told  her  what  he  had  learnt 
without  any  doubt  that  it  would  interest  her.  And  it 
did  interest  her  more  than  she  could  have  believed 
beforehand,  although  sometimes  its  interest  arose 
from  the  obvious  mendacity  of  Hoskyn's  informants: 
he  being  as  credulous  of  particulars  extracted  by  causal 
pumping  as  he  was  sceptical  of  any  duly  authorized 
and  published  statement.  In  his  company  Mary 
felt  neither  the  anxiety  to  appear  at  her  best  with 
which  Herbert's  delicate  taste  and  nervous  solicitude 
for  her  dignity  and  comfort  had  always  inspired  her, 
nor  the  circumspection  which  she  had  found  necessary 
in  order  to  avoid  offending  the  exacting  temper  of 
Jack.  In  their  different  ways  both  these  men  had 
humbled  her.  Hoskyn  admired  her  person,  and  held 
her  acquirements  in  awe,  without  being  himself  in  the 
least  humbled,  although  he  exalted  her  v/ithout  stint. 
She  began  to  feel,  too,  that  she,  by  her  apprenticeship 
to  the  two  artists,  had  earned  the  right  to  claim  rank 
as  an  adept  in  modern  culture  before  such  men  as 
Hoskyn.  When  they  went  to  the  Academy,  he  was 
quite  delighted  to  find  that  she  despised  all  the  pictures 


Love  Among  the  Artists  287 

he  preferred.  In  about  an  hour,  however,  both  had 
had  enough  of  picture  seeing-  and  they  finished  the  day 
by  the  trip  to  Hampton  Court. 

When  the  season  was  over,  it  was  arranged  that  Mr, 
Phipson  should  take  his  family  to  Trouville  for  the 
month  of  August.  Hoskyn,  who  was  to  accompany 
them,  never  doubted  that  Mary  would  be  one  of  the 
party  until  she  announced  the  date  of  her  departure 
for  Sir  John  Porter's  country  seat  in  Devonshire.  She 
had  accepted  Lady  Geraldine's  invitation  a  month 
before.  Hoskyn  listened  in  dismay,  and  instead  of 
proposing  some  excursion  to  pass  away  the  time, 
moped  about  the  house  during  the  remainder  of  the 
afternoon.  Shortly  after  luncheon  he  was  alone  in 
the  drawing-room,  staring  disconsolately  out  of  win- 
dow, when  Mary  entered.  She  sat  down  without 
ceremony,  and  opened  a  book. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  presently.  "This  is  a  regular 
sell  about  Trouville." 

"How  so?     Has  anything  happened?" 

"I  mean  your  not  coming," 

"But  nobody  ever  supposed  that  I  was  coming.  It 
was  arranged  long  ago  that  I  should  go  to  Devonshire, ' ' 

"I  never  heard  a  word  about  Devonshire  until  you 
mentioned  it  at  lunch.  Couldn't  you  make  some 
excuse — tell  Lady  Porter  that  you  have  been  ordered 
abroad  for  your  health,  or  that  Nanny  will  be  offended 
if  you  don't  go  with  her,  or  something  of  that  sort?" 

"But  why?  I  want  to  go  to  Devonshire  and  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  Trouville, ' ' 

"Oh!     In  that  case  I  suppose  you  will  leave  us," 

"Certainly,  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  make  a 
grievance  of  my  desertion." 


2  88  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Oh  no.  But  it  knocks  all  the  fun  of  the  thing  on 
the  head." 

"What  a  pity!" 

"I  am  quite  in  earnest,  you  know." 

"Nobody  could  doubt  it,  looking  at  your  face.  Can 
nothing  be  done  to  console  you?" 

"Poking  fun  at  me  is  not  the  way  to  console  me. 
Why  do  you  want  to  go  to  Devonshire?  It's  about 
the  worst  climate  in  England  for  anyone  with  a  weak 
chest:  muggy,  damp,  and  tepid." 

"I  have  not  a  weak  chest  I  am  glad  to  say.  Have 
you  ever  been  in  Devonshire?" 

"No.  But  I  have  heard  about  it  from  people  who 
lived  there  for  years,  and  had  to  leave  it  at  last." 

"I  am  going  for  a  month  only." 

Hoskyn  began  to  twirl  the  cord  of  the  blind  round  his 
forefinger.  "When  he  had  dashed  the  tassel  twice 
against  the  pane,  Mary  interfered. 

"Would  it  not  be  better  to  open  the  window  if  you 
wish  to  let  in  the  fresh  air?" 

"All  I  can  say  is,"  said  he,  dropping  the  tassel , 
"that  you  really  might  come  with  us." 

"Very  true.  But  there  are  many  things  I  really 
might  do,  which  I  really  won't  do.  And  one  of  them 
is  to  disappoint  Lady  Geraldine." 

"Hang  Lady  Geraldine.  At  least,  not  if  she  is  a 
friend  of  yours  but  I  wish  she  had  invited  you  at  any 
other  time." 

"I  think  you  have  now  made  quite  enough  fuss 
about  my  going  away.  I  am  flattered,  Mr.  Hoskyn, 
and  feel  how  poignantly  you  will  all  miss  me.  So 
let  us  drop  the  subject." 

"When  shall  I  see  you  again,  then?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  289 

"Really  I  do  not  know.  I  hope  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you  next  season.  Until  then  I 
shall  probably  be  lost  to  view  in  Windsor." 

"If  you  mean  that  we  may  meet  at  dances,  and  that 
sort  of  thing,  we  are  likely  never  to  meet  at  all;  for  I 
never  go  to  them." 

"Then  you  had  better  take  lessons  in  dancing,  and 
change  your  habits." 

"Not  I.  It  is  bad  enough  to  be  made  a  fool  of  by 
you  without  making  one  of  myself." 

Mary  grew  nervous.  "I  think  we  are  going  back  to 
the  old  subject,"  she  said. 

"No.      I  was  thinking  of    something    else.      Miss 

Sutherland "    here  he  suddenly  raised  his  voice, 

which  broke,  and  compelled  him  to  pause  and  clear  his 
throat — "Miss  Sutherland:  I  hope  I  am  not  going  to 
bungle  this  business  by  being  too  hasty — too  pre- 
cipitate, as  it  were.  But  if  you  are  really  going  away, 
would  you  mind  telling  me  first  whether  you  have  any 
objection  to  think  over  becoming  Mrs.  Hoskyn.  Just 
to  think  over  it,  you  know. ' ' 

"Are  you  serious?"  said  Mary,  incredulously. 

"Of  course  I  am.  You  don't  suppose  I  would  say 
such  a  thing  in  jest?" 

Mary  discomfited,  privately  deplored  her  womanly 
disability  to  make  friends  with  a  man  without  being 
proposed  to.  "I  think  we  had  better  drop  this  subject, 
too,  Mr.  Hoskyn,"  she  replied.  Then,  recovering  her 
courage,  she  added,  "Of  all  the  arrangements  you 
have  proposed,  I  think  this  is  the  most  injudicious.' 

"We  will  drop  it  of  you  like.  I  am  in  no  hurry — at 
least  I  mean  that  I  don't  wish  to  hurry  you.  But 
you  will  think  it  over  won't  you?" 


290  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Had  you  not  better  think  over  it  yourself,  Mr. 
Hoskyn?" 

"I  have  thought  of  it — let  me  see!  I  guess  I  saw 
you  first  about  twenty-one  days  and  two  hours  ago. 
Well,  I  have  been  thinking  over  it  constantly  all  that 
time." 

"Think  better  of  it." 

"I  will.  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  better  I  think 
of  it.  And  if  you  will  only  say  yes,  I  shan't  think  the 
worse  of  it  in  this  world.  Tell  me  one  thing,  Miss 
Sutherland,  did  you  ever  know  me  make  a  mistake 
yet?" 

"Not  in  my  twenty-two  days  and  one  hour's  experi- 
ence of  you. ' ' 

"Twenty-one  days  and  two  hours.  Well,  I  am  not 
making  a  mistake  now.  Don't  concern  yourself  about 
my  prospects:  stick  to  your  own.  If  you  can  hit  it  off 
with  me,  depend  upon  it,  my  family  affairs  are  settled 
to  my  satisfaction  for  ever.     What  do  you  think?" 

"I  still  think  we  had  better  abandon  the  subject." 

"For  the  present?" 

"For  ever,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Hoskyn." 

"For  ever  is  a  long  word.  I've  been  too  abrupt. 
But  you  can  turn  the  matter  over  in  your  mind  whilst 
you  are  amusing  yourself  in  Devonshire.  There  is  no 
use  in  bothering  yourself  about  it  now,  when  we  are 
all  separating.     Hush.     Here's  Nanny." 

Mary  was  prevented  by  the  entrance  of  Mrs.  Phip- 
son  from  distinctly  refusing  Mr.  Hoskyn 's  proposal. 
He,  during  the  rest  of  the  day,  seemed  to  have 
regained  his  usual  good  spirits,  and  chatted  with  Mary 
without  embarrassment,  although  he  contrived  not  to 
be  left  alone  with  her.     When  she  retired    for    the 


Love  Among  the  Artists  291 

night,  he  had  a  short  conversation  with  his  sister,  who 
asked  whether  he  had  said  an5''thing  to  Mary. 

"Yes." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"She  didn't  say  much.  She  was  rather  floored :  I 
knew  I  was  beginning  too  soon.  We  agreed  to  let  the 
matter  stand  over.     But  I  expect  it  will  be  all  right. ' ' 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  agreeing  to  let  the 
matter  stand  over?     Did  she  say  yes  or  no?" 

"She  did  not  jump  at  me.  In  fact  she  said  no;  but 
she  didn't  mean  it." 

"Hoity  toity!  I  wonder  whom  she  would  consider 
good  enough  for  her.    She  may  refuse  once  too  often. " 

"She  won't  refuse  me.  Though,  if  she  does,  I  don't 
see  why  you  should  lose  your  temper  on  that  score, 
since  you  have  always  maintained  that  I  had  no 
chance." 

"I  am  not  losing  my  temper.  I  knew  perfectly  well 
that  she  would  refuse ;  but  I  think  she  may  go  further 
and  fare  worse.  * ' 

"She  hasn't  refused.  And — now  you  mind  what  I 
am  telling  you,  Nanny — not  a  word  to  her  on  the  sub- 
ject. Hold  your  tongue ;  and  don't  pretend  to  know 
anything  about  my  plans.     Do  you  hear?" 

"You  need  not  make  such  a  to-do  about  it,  Johnny. 
I  don't  want  to  speak  to  her.  I  am  sure  I  don't  care 
whether  she  marries  you  or  not. ' ' 

"So  much  the  better.  If  you  give  her  a  hint  about 
going  further  and  faring  worse — I  know  you  would 
like  to — it  is  all  up  with  me. " 

Mary  heard  no  more  about  Mr.  Hoskyn's  suit  just 
then.  She  left  Cavendish  Square  next  day,  and  went 
with  Lady  Geraldine  to  the  south-west  of  Devonshire, 


292  Love  Among  the  Artists 

where  Sir  John  Porter  owned  a  large  white  house  with 
a  Doric  portico,  standing  in  a  park  surrounded  by 
wooded  hills.  Mary  began  sketching  on  the  third 
day,  in  spite  of  her  former  resolution  to  discontinue 
the  practice.  Lady  Geraldine  was  too  busy  recovering 
the  management  of  her  house  and  dairy  farm  after  her 
season's  absence,  to  interfere  with  the  occupation  of 
her  guest;  but  at  the  end  of  a  week  she  remarked  one 
evening  with  a  sigh : 

"No  more  solitude  for  us,  Mary.  Sir  John  is  coming 
to-morrow.  He  is  bringing  Mr.  Conolly  as  a  pioneer 
of  the  invading  army  of  autumn  visitors.  Since  Sir 
John  became  a  director  of  the  Electro-motor  company, 
he  has  become  bent  on  having  everything  here  done 
by  electricity.  We  shall  have  a  couple  of  electro- 
motors harnessed  to  the  pony  phaeton  shortly." 

"Mr.  Conolly  is  coming  on  business,  then." 

"Of  course  he  is  coming  to  pay  a  visit  and  make  a 
holiday.  But  he  will  incidentally  take  notes  of  how 
the  place  can  be  most  inconveniently  upset  with  his 
machinery. ' ' 

"You  are  not  glad  that  he  is  coming." 

"I  am  indifferent.  So  many  people  come  here  in 
the  autumn  whom  I  don't  care  for,  that  I  have  become 
hardened  to  the  labor  of  entertaining  them.  I  like 
to  have  young  people  about  me.  Sir  John,  of  course, 
has  to  do  with  men  of  business  and  politicians;  and 
he  invites  them  all  to  run  down  for  a  fortnight  in  the 
off  season.  So  they  run  down;  and  it  is  seldom  by 
any  means  possible  to  wind  them  up  for  conversational 
purposes  until  they  go  away  again." 

"Mr.  Conolly  never  seems  to  require  winding  up. 
Don't  you  like  him?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  293 

"He  never  seems  to  require  anything,  and  it  is  partly 
for  that  reason  that  I  don't  like  him.  I  have  no  fault 
to  find  with  him — that  is  another  reason,  I  think. 
Since  I  met  him  I  have  become  ever  so  much  more 
tolerant  of  human  frailty.  I  respect  the  brute ;  but  I 
don't  like  him. 

This  Mr.  Conolly  was  known  to  Mary  as  a  man  who, 
having  been  an  obscure  workman,  had  suddenly 
become  famous  as  the  inventor  of  something  called  an 
electro-motor,  by  which  he  had  made  much  money. 
He  had  then  married  a  highly  born  young  lady, 
celebrated  in  society  for  her  beauty.  Not  long  after- 
wards she  had  eloped  with  a  gentleman  of  her  own 
rank,  whom  she  had  known  all  her  life.  Conolly  had 
thereupon  divorced  her,  and  resumed  his  bachelor  life, 
displaying  so  little  concern,  that  many  who  knew  her 
had  since  regarded  him  with  mistrust  and  dislike,  feel- 
ing that  he  was  not  the  man  to  make  a  home  for  a 
young  woman  accustomed  to  the  tenderest  considera- 
tion and  most  chivalrous  courtesy  in  her  father's  set. 
Even  women,  whose  sympathy  he  would  not  keep  in 
countenance  by  any  pretence  of  broken-heartedness, 
had  taken  his  wife's  part  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  ought 
never  to  have  married  her.  Mary  had  heard  this 
much  of  his  history  in  the  course  of  gossip,  and  had 
met  him  a  few  times  in  society  in  London. 

"I  don't  dislike  him,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  Lady 
Geraldine's  last  remark;  "but  he  is  an  unanswerable 
sort  of  person;  and  I  doubt  if  it  would  make  the 
slightest  difference  to  him  whether  the  whole  world 
hated  or  loved  him. ' ' 

"Just  so.  Can  anything  be  more  unamiable?  Such 
a  man  ought  to  be  a  judge,  or  an  executioner." 


294  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"After  all,  he  is  only  a  man,;  and  he  must  have 
some  feeling,"  said  Mary, 

"  If  he  has  he  ought  to  show  it, ' '  said  Lady  Geraldine. 
A  servant  just  then  entered  with  letters  which  had 
come  by  the  evening  mail.  There  were  some  for 
Mary;  among  them  one  addressed  in  a  rapid  business 
hand  which  she  did  not  recognize.  She  opened  them 
absently,  thinking  that  a  little  experience  of  Herbert 
and  Jack  would  soon  remove  Lady  Geraldine's  objec- 
tion to  Conolly's  power  of  self-control.  Then  she 
read  the  letters.  One  was  from  Miss  Cairns,  who 
was  at  a  hydropathic  establishment  in  Derbyshire. 
Another  was  from  her  father,  who  was  glad  she  had 
arrived  safely  at  Devonshire ;  hoped  she  would  enjoy 
herself;  was  sure  that  the  country  air  would  benefit 
her  health;  and  had  nothing  more  to  say  at  present 
but  would  write  soon  again.  The  third  letter,  a  long 
one  in  a  strange  hand,  roused  her  attention. 

Langham  Hotel,  London,  W. 
loth  August. 
Dear  Miss  Sutherland : — I  have  returned  for  a  few 
days  from  Trouville,  where  I  left  Nanny  and  the  chil- 
dren comfortably  settled.  I  was  recalled  by  a  telegram 
from  our  head  office ;  and  now  that  my  business  there 
is  transacted,  I  have  nothing  to  do  except  lounge 
around  this  great  barrack  of  a  hotel  until  I  take  it  into 
my  head  to  go  back  to  Trouville.  I  miss  Cavendish 
Square  greatly.  Three  or  four  times  a  day  I  find 
myself  preparing  to  go  there,  forgetting  that  there  is 
nobody  in  the  house,  unless  Nanny  has  left  the  cat  to 
starve,  as  she  did  two  years  ago.  You  cannot  imagine 
how  lonely  I  find  London.  The  hotel  is  full  of 
Americans;  and  I  have  scraped  acquaintance  with 
most  of  them;  but  I  am  none  the  livelier  for  that: 
somebody    or    something    has    left    a    hole    in    this 


Love  Among  the  Artists  295 

metropolis  that  all  the  Americans  alive  cannot  fill. 
To-night  after  dinner  I  felt  especially  dull.  There 
are  no  plays  worth  seeing  at  this  season;  and  even  if 
there  were,  it  is  no  pleasure  to  me  to  go  to  the  theatre 
by  myself.  I  have  got  out  of  the  way  of  doing  so 
lately;  and  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  ever  get  into  it 
again.  So  I  thought  that  writing  to  you  would  pass 
the  time  as  pleasantly  as  anything. 

You  remember,  I  hope,  a  certain  conversation  we 
had  on  the  2nd  inst.  I  agreed  not  to  return  to  the 
subject  until  you  came  back  from  Lady  Porter's;  but 
I  was  so  flurried  by  having  to  speak  to  you  sooner 
than  I  intended,  that  I  have  been  doubtful  ever  since 
whether  I  put  it  to  you  in  the  right  way.  I  am  afraid 
I  was  rather  vague ;  and  though  it  does  not  do  to  be 
too  business-like  on  such  occasions,  still,  you  have  a 
right  to  know  to  a  fraction  what  my  proposal  means. 
I  know  you  are  too  sensible  to  suppose  that  I  am  going 
into  particulars  from  want  of  the  good  old-fashioned 
sentiment  which  ought  to  be  the  main  point  in  all  such 
matters,  or  by  way  of  offering  you  an  additional 
inducement.  If  you  had  only  j^ourself  to  look  to,  I 
think  I  should  have  pluck  enough  to  ask  you  to  shut 
your  eyes  and  open  your  mouth  so  far  as  money  is 
concerned ;  but  when  other  interested  parties  who  may 
come  on  the  scene  hereafter  are  to  be  considered,  it  is 
not  only  allowable  but  right  to  go  into  figures. 

There  are  just  four  points,  as  I  reckon  it,  i,  I  am 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  and  have  no  person  depending 
on  me  for  support.  2,  I  can  arrange  matters  so  that 
if  anything  happens  to  me  you  shall  have  a  permanent 
income  of  five  hundred  pounds  per  annum.  3,  I  can 
afford  to  spend  a  thousand  a  year  at  present,  without 
crippling  myself.  4,  These  figures  are  calculated  at  a 
percentage  off  the  minimum,  and  far  understate  what  1 
may  reasonably  expect  my  resources  to  be  in  the  course  of 
a  few  years. 

I  won't  go  any  closer  into  money  matters  with  you, 
because  I  feel  that  bargaining  would  be  out  of  place 


296  Love  Among  the  Artists 

between  us.     You  may  trust  me  that  you  shall  want 

for  nothing-,   if !  !  !     I   wish  you  would   help  me 

over  that  if.  We  got  along-  very  well  together  in  July 
— at  least  I  thought  so;  and  you  seemed  to  think  so 
too.  Our  tastes  fit  in  together  to  a  T.  You  have 
genius;  and  I  admire  it.  If  I  had  it  myself,  I  should 
be  jealous  of  you,  don't  you  see?  As  it  is,  the  more 
you  sing  and  read  and  paint  and  play,  the  better 
pleased  am  I,  though  I  don't  say  that  I  would  not  be 
■writing  this  letter  all  the  same  if  you  didn't  know  B 
flat  from  a  bull's  foot.  If  you  will  just  for  this  once 
screw  up  your  courage  and  say  yes,  I  undertake  on  my 
part  that  you  shall  never  regret  it. 

An  early  answer  will  shorten  my  suspense.  Not 
that  I  want  you  to  write  without  taking  plenty  of  time 
for  consideration;  but  just  remember  that  it  will 
appear  cent,  per  cent,  longer  to  me  than  to  you. 
Hoping  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  have  been  unreason- 
able in  following  up  my  wishes, 

I  am,  dear  Miss  Sutherland, 

Most  sincerely  yours, 

John  Hoskyn. 

Mary  thrust  the  letter  back  into  its  envelope,  and  knit 
her  brows.  Lady  Geraldine  watched  her,  pretending 
meanwhile  to  be  occupied  with  her  own  corre- 
spondence. 

"Do  you  know  any  of  Mrs.  Phipson's  family?"  said 
Mary  slowly,  after  some  minutes. 

"No,"  replied  Lady  Geraldine,  somewhat  contemp- 
tuously. Then,  recollecting  that  Mrs.  Phipson's 
daughter  was  Mary's  sister-in-law,  she  added,  "There 
are  brothers  in  Australia  and  Columbia  who  are  very 
rich;  and  the  youngest  is  a  friend  of  Sir  John's.  He's 
in  the  Conolly  Company,  and  is  said  to  be  a  shrewd 
man  of  business.  They  all  were,  I  believe.  Then 
there  were  two  sisters,  Sarah  and  Lizzie  Hoskyn.     I 


Love  Among  the  Artists  297 

can  remember  Lizzie  when  she  was  exactly  like  your 
brother  Dick's  wife.  She  married  a  great  Cornhill 
goldsmith  in  her  first  season.  Altogether,  they  are  a 
wonderful  family:  making  money,  marrying  money, 
putting  each  other  in  the  way  of  making  and  marrying 
more,  and  falling  on  their  feet  everywhere." 

"Are  they  the  sort  of  people  you  like?" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  my  dear?" 

"I  think  I  mean  what  I  say,"  said  Mary  laughing. 
"But  do  you  think,  for  example,  that  Mrs.  Phipson's 
brothers  and  sisters  are  ladies  and  gentlemen?" 

"Whether  Dick's  wife's  aunts  or  uncles  are  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  eh?" 

"Never  mind  about  Dick.  I  have  a  reason  for 
asking. ' ' 

"Well  then,  I  think  it  must  be  sufficiently  obvious 
to  everybody  that  they  are  not  what  used  to  be  called 
ladies  and  gentlemen.  But  what  has  that  to  do  with 
it?  Rich  middle  class  tradespeople  have  had  their 
own  way  in  society  and  in  everything  else  as  long  as 
I  can  remember.  Even  if  we  could  go  back  to  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  now,  we  could  not  stand  them. 
Look  at  the  county  set  here — either  vapid  people  with 
affected  manners,  or  pigheaded  people  with  no  manners 
at  all.  Each  set  seems  the  worst  until  you  try 
another." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you — I  mean  about  the 
Hoskyns,"  said  Mary.  And  she  changed  the  subject. 
But  at  bedtime,  when  she  bade  Lady  Geraldine 
goodnight,  she  handed  her  Hoskyn's  letter,  saying, 
"Read  that;  and  tell  me  to-morrow  what  you  think 
of  it." 

Lady  Geraldine  read    the    letter  in   bed,   and  lay 


298  Love  Among  the  Artists 

awake,  thinking  of  it  for  half  an  hour  later  than  usual. 
In  the  morning,  Mary,  before  leaving  her  room, 
received  a  note.     It  ran: 

''''Sir  John  will  come  by  the  three  train.  We  can  chat 
afterzvards — zvhen  he  and  Mr.  Conolly  are  settled  here 
and  off  my  mind. — G.  P.'* 

Mary  understood  from  this  that  she  was  not  to 
approach  the  subject  of  Mr.  Hoskyn  until  Lady 
Geraldine  invited  her.  At  breakfast  no  allusion  was 
made  to  him,  except  that  once,  when  they  chanced  to 
look  at  one  another,  they  laughed.  But  Lady  Geral- 
dine immediately  afterwards  became  graver  than 
usual,  and  began  to  talk  about  the  dairy  farm. 

At  three  o'clock  Sir  John,  heavy,  double  chinned, 
and  white  haired,  arrived  with  a  younger  man  in  a 
grey  suit. 

"Well,  Mr.  Conolly,"  said  Sir  John,  as  they  passed 
under  the  Doric  portico.     "Here  we  are  at  last." 

"At  home,"  said  Conolly,  contentedly.  Lady 
Geraldine,  who  was  there  to  welcome  them,  looked 
at  him  quickly,  her  hospitality  gratified  by  the  word. 
Then  the  thought  of  what  he  had  made  of  his  own 
home  hardened  her  heart  against  him.  Her  habitual 
candid  manner  and  abundance  of  shrewd  comment 
forsook  her  in  his  presence.  She  was  silent  and 
scrupulously  polite ;  and  by  that  Mary  and  Sir  John 
knew  that  she  was  under  the  constraint  of  strong 
dislike  to  her  guest. 

Later  in  the  afternoon,  Conolly  asked  permission  to 
visit  the  farm,  and  inquired  whether  there  was  any 
running  water  in  the  neighborhood.  Sir  John  pro- 
posed to  accompany  him;  but  he  declined,  on  the 
ground  that  a  prospecting  engineer  was  the  worst  of 


Love  Among  the  Artists  299 

bad  company.  When  he  was  gone,  Lady  Geraldine's 
bosom  heaved  with  relief:  she  recovered  her  spirits, 
and  presently  followed  Sir  John  to  the  library,  where 
they  had  a  long  conversation  together.  Having  con- 
cluded it  to  her  satisfaction,  she  was  leaving  the  room, 
when  Sir  John,  who  was  seated  at  a  writing  table, 
coughed  and  said  mildly: 

"My  dear." 

Lady  Geraldine  closed  the  door  again,  and  turned  to 
listen, 

"I  was  thinking,  as  we  came  down  together,"  said 
Sir  John  slowly,  smiling  and  combing  his  beard  with 
his  fingers,  "that  perhaps  he  might  take  a  fancy  that 
way." 

"Who?" 

"  Conolly,  my  dear. " 

"Stuff!"  said  Lady  Geraldine  sharply.  Sir  John 
smiled  in  deprecation.  "At  least,"  she  added,  repent- 
ing, ' '  I  mean  that  he  is  married  already. ' ' 

"But  he  is  free  to  marry  again." 

"Besides,  he  is  not  a  gentleman." 

"Well,"  said  Sir  John,  good  humoredly,  "I  think  we 
agreed  just  now  that  that  did  not  matter." 

"Yes,  in  Hoskyn's  case." 

"Just  so.  Now  Conolly  is  a  man  of  greater  culture 
than  Hoskyn.  Of  course,  it  is  only  a  notion  of  mine ; 
and  I  dare  say  you  are  quite  right  if  you  disapprove 
of  it.  But  since  Mary  is  a  girl  with  nice  tastes — for 
art  and  so  forth — I  thought  that  perhaps  she  might 
not  suit  a  thorough  man  of  business.  Hoskyn  is  only 
an  Americanized  commercial  traveller." 

"Conolly  is  an  American  too.  But  that  has  nothing 
to  do  with  it.     Conolly  treated  his  wife  badly :  that  is 


300  Love  Among  the  Artists 

enough  for  me.     I  am  certain    he  would  make  any 
woman  miserable," 

"If  he  really  did " 

"But,  dear,"  interrupted  Lady  Geraldine,  with 
restrained  impatience,  "don't  you  know  he  did? 
Everybody  knows  it." 

Sir  John  shrugged  himself  placidly.  "They  say 
so,"  he  said.  "I  am  afraid  he  was  not  all  that  he 
should  have  been  to  her.  She  was  a  charming 
creature — great  beauty  and,  I  thought,  great  rectitude. 
Dear  me !  You  are  right,  as  usual,  Joldie.  It  would 
not  suit." 

Lady  Geraldine  left  the  library,  and  went  to  dress 
for  dinner,  disturbed  by  the  possibility  which  Sir  John 
had  suggested.  At  dinner  she  watched  Conolly,  and 
observed  that  he  conversed  chiefly  with  Mary,  and 
seemed  to  know  more  than  she  on  all  her  favorite  sub- 
jects. Afterwards,  when  they  were  in  the  drawing 
room,  Mary  asked  him  whether  he  played  the  piano. 
As  he  replied  in  the  afifirmative.  Lady  Geraldine  was 
compelled  to  ask  him  to  favor  her  with  a  performance. 
At  their  request  he  played  some  of  Jack's  music,  much 
more  calmly  and  accurately  than  Jack  himself  played  it. 
Then  he  made  Mary  sing,  and  was  struck  by  her 
declamatory  style,  which  jarred  Lady  Geraldine 's 
nerves  nearly  as  much  as  it  had  Mrs.  Phipson's.  He 
next  sang  himself,  Mary  accompanying  him,  and  at 
first  soothed  Lady  Geraldine  by  his  rich  baritone  voice, 
and  then  roused  her  suspicions  by  singing  a  serenade 
with  great  expression,  which  she  privately  set  down  as 
a  cold-blooded  hypocrisy  on  his  part.  She  at  last 
persuaded  herself  that  he  was  deliberately  trying  to 
engage  the  affections  of  Mary,  with  the  intention  of 


Love  Among  the  Artists  301 

making  her  his  second  wife.  Afterwards,  he  went  out 
with  Sir  John,  who  often  smoked  cigars  after  dinner 
in  the  portico,  and  was  fond  of  having  a  companion 
on  such  occasions. 

"Thank  goodness!"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  "Blue- 
beard has  gone ;  and  we  can  have  our  chat  at  last. ' ' 

"Why  Bluebeard?"  said  Mary,  laughing.  "His 
beard  is  auburn.  Has  he  been  married  more  than 
once?" 

"No.  But  mark  my  words,  he  will  marry  at  least 
half-a-dozen  times;  and  he  will  kill  all  his  wives, 
unless  they  run  away  from  him,  as  poor  Marian  did. 
However,  so  long  as  he  does  not  marry  us,  he  can  do 
as  he  likes.  The  question  of  the  day  is,  what  are  you 
going  to  say  to  Mr.  John  Hoskyn?" 

"Oh!"  said  Mary,  her  face  clouding.  "Let  Mr. 
John  Hoskyn  wait.     I  wish  he  were  in  America. ' ' 

"And  why?"  said  Lady  Geraldine  in  an  obstinate 
tone. 

"Because  I  want  to  enjoy  my  visit  here  and  not  be 
worried  by  his  proposals." 

"You  can  answer  him  in  five  minutes,  and  then 
enjoy  your  visit  as  much  as  if  he  actually  were  in 
America. ' ' 

"That  is  true.  Except  that  it  will  take  much  longer 
than  five  minutes  to  devise  a  letter  that  will  not  hurt 
his  feelings  too  much. ' ' 

"I  could  write  a  sensible  letter  for  you  that  would 
not  hurt  his  feelings  at  all. ' ' 

"Will  you?  I  shall  be  so  much  obliged.  I  hate 
refusing  people." 

"Mary:  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  be  foolish  about 
this  offer." 


302  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Do  you  mean,"  said  Mary,  astonished,  "that  you 
advise  me  to  accept  it." 

"Most  decidedly." 

"But  you  said  last  night  that  he  was  not  even  a 
gentleman." 

"Oh,  a  gentleman!  Nonsense!  What  is  a  gentle- 
man? Who  is  a  gentleman  nowadays?  Is  Mr.  Conolly, 
with  whom  you  seem  so  well  pleased"  (Mary  opened 
her  eyes  widely)  "a  gentleman?     Or  Mr.  Jack?" 

"Do  you  not  consider  Mr.  Herbert  a  gentleman?" 

"Yes,  I  grant  you  that.  I  forgot  him;  but  I  only 
conclude  from  your  experience  of  him  that  a  mere 
gentleman  would  not  do  for  you  at  all.  Do  you  dis- 
like Mr.  Hoskyn?" 

"No,  But  then  I  do  not  absolutely  dislike  any  man ; 
and  I  know  nearly  a  hundred." 

"Is  there  anyone  whom  you  like  better?" 

"N-no.  Of  course  I  am  speaking  only  of  people 
whom  I  could  marry.  Still,  that  is  not  saying  much. 
If  I  heard  that  he  was  leaving  the  country  for  ever, 
I  should  be  rather  relieved  than  otherwise." 

"Yes,  my  dear,  I  know  it  is  very  anoying  to  be 
forced  to  make  up  one's  mind.  But  you  will  gain 
nothing  by  putting  it  off.  I  have  been  speaking  to  Sir 
John  about  Mr.  Hoskyn;  and  everything  he  has  told 
me  is  satisfactory  in  the  highest  degree. ' ' 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  Respectable,  well  off,  rising, 
devotedly  attached  to  me,  calculates  his  figures  at  a 
percentage  off  the  minimum,  and  so  forth." 

"Mary,"  said  Lady  Geraldine  gravely:  "have  I 
mentioned  even  one  of  those  points  to  you?" 

"No,"  said  Mary,  taken  a  little  aback.  "But  what 
other  light  can  you  see  him  in?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  303 

"In  the  best  of  all  lights:  that  of  a  comfortable 
husband.  I  am  in  dread  for  you  lest  your  notions  of 
high  art  should  make  you  do  something  foolish. 
When  you  have  had  as  much  experience  as  I,  you  will 
know  that  genius  no  more  qualifies  a  man  to  be  a 
husband  than  good  looks,  or  fine  manners,  or  noble 
birth,  or  anything  else  out  of  a  story  book." 

"But  want  of  genius  is  still  less  a  qualification." 
"Genius,  Mary,  is  a  positive  disqualification. 
Geniuses  are  morbid,  intolerant,  easily  offended, 
sleeplessly  self-conscious  men,  who  expect  their  wives 
to  be  angels  with  no  further  business  in  life  than  to 
pet  and  worship  their  husbands.  Even  at  the  best 
they  are  not  comfortable  men  to  live  with;  and  a 
perfect  husband  is  one  who  is  perfectly  comfortable 
to  live  with.  Look  at  the  matter  practically.  Do  you 
suppose,  you  foolish  child,  that  I  am  a  bit  less  happy 
because  Sir  John  does  not  know  a  Raphael  from  a 
Redgrave,  and  would  accept  the  last  waltz  cheerfully 
as  a  genuine  something-or-other  by  Bach  in  B  minor? 
Our  tastes  are  quite  different;  and,  to  confess  the 
truth,  I  was  no  more  romantically  in  love  with  him 
when  we  were  married  than  you  are  at  present  with 
Mr.  Hoskyn.  Yet  where  will  you  find  such  a  modern 
Darby  and  Joan  as  we  are?  You  hear  Belle  Saunders 
complaining  that  she  has  'nothing  in  common*  with  her 
husband.  What  cant!  As  if  any  two  beings  living 
in  the  same  world  must  not  have  more  things  in 
common  than  not;  especially  a  husband  and  wife 
living  in  the  same  house,  on  the  same  income,  and 
owning  the  same  children.  Why,  I  have  something 
in  common  with  Macalister,  the  gardener.  I  can  find 
you  a  warning  as  well  as  an  example.     I  knew  Mr. 


304  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Conolly's  wife  very  well  before  she  was  married.  She 
was  a  woman  of  whom  it  was  impossible  to  believe 
anything  bad.  In  an  evil  hour  she  met  Conolly  at  a 
charity  concert  where  they  had  both  promised  to  sing. 
Of  course  he  sang  as  if  he  was  all  softness  and  gentle- 
ness, much  as  he  did  just  now,  probably.  Then  there 
was  a  charming  romance.  She,  like  you,  was  fond  of 
books,  pictures,  and  music.  He  knew  all  about  them. 
She  was  very  honest  and  candid:  he  a  statue  of 
probity.  He  was  a  genius  too ;  and  his  fame  was  a 
novelty  then:  everybody  talked  of  him.  Never  was 
there  such  an  auspicious  match.  She  was  the  only 
woman  in  England  worthy  of  him :  he  the  only  man 
worthy  of  her.  Well,  she  married  him,  in  spite  of 
the  patent  fact  that  with  all  his  genius,  he  is  a  most 
uncomfortable  person.  She  endured  him  for  two 
years,  and  then  ran  away  with  an  arrogant  blockhead 
who  had  nothing  to  recommend  him  to  her  except  an 
imposing  appearance  and  an  extreme  unlikeness  to 
her  husband.  She  has  never  been  heard  of  since.  If 
she  had  married  a  domestic  man  like  Hoskyn,  she 
would  have  been  a  happy  wife  and  mother  to-day. 
But  she  was  like  you :  she  thought  that  taking  a  hus- 
band was  the  same  thing  as  engaging  a  gentleman  to 
talk  art  criticism  with." 

"I  think  I  had  better  advertise,  'Wanted:  a  com- 
fortable husband.  Applicants  need  not  be  handsome, 
as  the  lady  is  shortsighted. '  It  sounds  very  prosaic. 
Lady  Geraldine. " 

"It  is  prosaic.  I  told  you  once  before  that  the  world 
is  not  a  stage  for  you  to  play  the  heroine  on.  Like  all 
young  people,  you  want  an  exalted  motive  for  every 
step  you  take. ' ' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  305 

**I  confess  I  do.  However,  you  have  forgotten  to 
apply  your  argument  to  Mr.  Hoskyn's  case.  If  people 
with  artistic  tastes  are  all  uncomfortable,  I  must  be 
uncomfortable;  and  that  is  not  fair  to  him." 

"No  matter.  He  is  in  love  with  you.  Besides, you 
are  not  artistic  enough  to  be  uncomfortable.  You 
have  been  your  father's  housekeeper  too  long." 

"And  you  really  advise  me  to  marry  Mr.  Hoskyn?" 

Lady  Geraldine  hesitated,  "I  think  you  can  hardly 
expect  me  to  take  the  responsibility  of  directly  advis- 
ing you  to  marry  any  man.  It  is  one  of  the  things 
that  people  must  do  for  themselves.  But  I  certainly 
advise  you  not  to  be  deterred  from  marrying  him  by 
any  supposed  incompatibility  in  your  tastes,  or  by  his 
not  being  a  man  of  genius.  " 

"I  wonder  would  Mr.  Con  oily  marry  me." 

"Mary!" 

"It  was  an  unmaidenly  remark,"  said  Mary, 
laughing. 

"It  is  undignified  for  a  sensible  girl  to  play  at  being 
silly,  Mary.  I  hope  you  have  no  serious  intention 
beneath  your  jesting.  If  you  have,  I  shall  be  very 
sorry  indeed  for  having  allowed  Mr.  Conolly  to  meet 
you  here. ' ' 

"Not  the  slightest,  I  assure  you.  Why,  Lady 
Geraldine,  you  look  quite  alarmed." 

"I  do  not  trust  Mr.  Conolly  much.  Marian  Lind 
was  infatuated  by  him ;  and  another  woman  may  share 
her  fate — unless  she  happens  to  share  my  feeling 
towards  him,  in  which  case  she  may  be  regarded  as 
perfectly  safe.  He  is  a  dangerous  subject.  Let  us 
leave  him  and  come  back  to  our  main  business.  Is 
Mr.  Hoskyn  to  be  made  happy  or  not?" 


3o6  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"I  don't  want  to  marry  at  all.  Let  him  have  Miss 
Cairns :  she  would  suit  him  exactly. ' ' 

"Well,  if  you  don't  want  to  marry  at  all,  my  dear, 
there  is  an  end  of  it.  I  have  said  all  I  can.  You  must 
decide  for  yourself." 

Mary,  perceiving  that  Lady  Geraldine  felt  offended, 
was  about  to  make  a  soothing  speech,  when  she  heard 
a  chair  move,  and,  looking  up,  saw  that  Conolly  was 
in  the  room. 

"Do  I  disturb  you?"  he  said. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Lady  Geraldine  with  dignity, 
looking  at  him  rather  severely,  and  wondering  how 
long  he  had  been  there. 

"We  were  discussing  sociology,"  said  Mary. 

"Ah!"  said  he  serenely.  "And  have  you  arrived  at 
any  important  generalizations?" 

"Most  important  ones." 

"What  about?— if  I  may  ask." 

"About  marriage."  Lady  Geraldine  stamped  hastily 
on  Mary's  foot,  and  looked  reproachfully  at  her. 
Mary  felt  her  color  deepen,  but  she  faced  him  boldly. 

"And  have  you  come  to  the  usual  conclusions?"  he 
said,  sitting  down  near  them. 

"What  are  the  usual  conclusions?"  said  Mary. 

"That  marriage  is  a  mistake.  That  men  who 
surrender  their  liberty,  and  women  who  surrender 
their  independence,  are  fools.  That  children  are  a 
nuisance.     And  so  forth." 

"We  have  not  come  to  any  such  conclusions.  We 
rather  started  in  with  the  assumption  that  marriage  is 
a  necessary  evil,  and  were  debating  how  to  make  the 
best  of  it. ' ' 

"On  which  point  you  differed,  of  course." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  307 

"Why  of  course?" 

"Because  Lady  Geraldine  is  married  and  you  are 
not.  Can  I  help  you  to  arrive  at  a  compromise?  I 
am  peculiarly  fitted  for  the  task,  because  I  am  not 
married,  and  yet  I  have  been  married." 

Lady  Geraldine,  who  had  turned  her  chair  so  as  to 
avert  her  face  from  him,  looked  round.  Disregarding 
this  mute  protest,  he  continued,  addressing  Mary. 
"Will  3^ou  tell  me  the  point  at  issue?" 

"It  is  not  so  very  important,"  said  Mary,  a  little 
confused.  "We  were  only  exchanging  a  few  casual 
remarks.  A  question  arose  as  to  whether  the  best 
men  make  the  best  husbands.  I  mean  the  cleverest 
men — men  of  genius,  for  instance.  Lady  Geraldine 
said  no.  She  maintains  that  a  good-natured  block- 
head makes  a  far  better  husband  than  a  Csesar  or  a 
Shakspere. " 

"Did  you  say  that?"  said  Conolly  to  Lady  Geraldine, 
with  a  smile. 

"No,"  she  replied,  almost  uncivilly.  "Blockheads 
are  never  good-natured.  At  best,  they  are  only  lazy. 
I  said  that  a  man  might  be  a  very  good  husband 
without  any  special  culture  in  the  arts  and  sciences. 
Mary  seemed  to  think  that  any  person  who  under- 
stands as  much  of  painting  as  an  artist,  is  a  person 
who  sympathizes  with  that  artist,  and  therefore  a 
suitable  match  for  her — or  him.  I  disagree  with  her. 
I  believe  that  community  of  taste  for  art  has  just  as 
much  to  do  with  matrimonial  happiness  as  com- 
munity of  taste  for  geography  or  roast  mutton,  and  no 
more." 

"And  no  more,"  repeated  Conolly.  "You  are  quite 
right.     Heroes  are  ill  adapted  to  domestic  purposes. 


3o8  Love  Among  the  Artists 

That  is  what  you  mean,  is  it  not?  Perhaps  Miss 
Sutherland  will  be  content  with  nothing  less  than  a 
hero." 

"  No, "  said  Mary.  ' '  But  I  will  never  admit  that  a  man 
is  not  the  better  for  being  a  hero.  According  to  you, 
he  is  the  worse.  I  heartily  despise  a  woman  who 
marries  a  fool  in  order  that  she  may  be  comfortably 
despotic  in  her  own  house.  I  do  not  make  absolute 
heroism  an  indispensable  condition — I  do  not  know 
exactly  what  heroism  means ;  but  I  think  a  man  may 
reasonably  be  expected  to  be  free  from  vulgar  preju- 
dices against  the  efforts  of  artists  to  make  life  beauti- 
ful; and  to  have  so  disciplined  himself  that  his  wife 
can  always  depend  on  his  self-control  and  moral 
rectitude.  It  must  be  terrible  to  live  in  constant 
dread  of  childish  explosions  of  temper  from  one's 
husband ;  or  to  fear,  at  every  crisis,  that  he  will  not 
act  like  a  man  of  sense  and  honor." 

Conolly  looked  at  her  curiously,  and  then,  with  an 
intent  deliberation  which  gave  the  fullest  emphasis  to 
his  words,  leaned  a  little  towards  her  with  his  hands 
on  his  knees,  and  said,  "Did  you  ever  live  with  a  per- 
son whose  temper  was  imperturbable — who  never 
hesitated  to  apply  his  principles,  and  never  swerved 
from  acting  as  they  dictated?  One  who,  whatever  he 
might  be  to  himself,  was  to  you  so  void  of  the  petty 
jealousies,  irritabilities,  and  superstitions  of  ordinary 
men,  that,  as  far  as  you  understood  his  view  of  life, 
you  could  calculate  upon  his  correct  behavior  before- 
hand in  every  crisis  with  as  much  certainty  as  upon 
the  striking  of  a  clock?" 

"No,"  said  Lady  Geraldine  emphatically,  before 
Mary  could  reply;  "and  I  should  not  like  to,  either." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  309 

"You  are  always  right,"  said  Conolly.  "Yet  such  a 
person  would  fulfil  Miss  Sutherland's  conditions. 
Like  Hamlet,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Mary,  "you 
want  a  man  that  is  not  Passion's  slave.  I  hope  you 
may  never  get  him ;  for  I  assure  you  you  will  not  like 
him.  He  would  make  an  excellent  God,  but  a  most 
unpleasant  man,  and  an  unbearable  husband.  What 
could  you  be  to  a  wholly  self-sufficient  man?  Affec- 
tion would  be  a  superfluity  with  which  you  would  be 
ashamed  to  trouble  him.  I  once  knew  a  lady  whom  I 
thought  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  accomplished, 
and  the  most  honest  of  her  sex.  This  lady  met  a  man 
who  had  learned  to  stand  alone  in  the  world — a  hard 
lesson,  but  one  that  is  relentlessly  forced  on  every 
sensitive  but  unlovable  boy  who  has  his  own  way  to 
make,  and  who  knows  that,  outside  himself,  there  is 
no  God  to  help  him.  This  man  had  realized  all  that 
is  humanly  possible  in  your  ideal  of  a  self-disciplined 
man.  The  lady  was  young,  and,  unlike  Lady  Geral- 
dine,  not  wise.  Instead  of  avoiding  his  imperturbable 
self-sufficiency,  she  admired  it;  loved  it;  and  married 
it.  She  found  in  her  husband  all  that  you  demand. 
She  never  had  reason  to  dread  his  temper,  or  to  doubt 
his  sense  and  honor.  He  needed  no  petting,  no 
counsel,  no  support.  He  had  no  vulgar  prejudices 
against  art,  and,  indeed,  was  fonder  of  it  than  she 
was.  What  she  felt  about  him  I  can  only  conjecture. 
But  I  know  that  she  ceased  to  love  him,  whilst  around 
her  thousands  of  wives  were  clinging  fondly  to 
husbands  who  bullied  and  beat  them,  to  fools,  savages, 
drunkards,  knaves,  Passion's  slaves  of  many  patterns, 
but  all  weak  enough  to  need  caresses  and  forgiveness 
occasionally.     Eventually  she  left  him,  and  it  served 


3IO  Love  Among  the  Artists 

him  right;  for  this  model  husband,  who  had  never 
forfeited  his  wife's  esteem,  or  tried  her  forbearance 
by  word  or  deed,  had  led  her  to  believe  that  he  would 
be  as  happy  without  her  as  with  her,  A  man  who  is 
complete  in  himself  needs  no  wife.  If  you  value  your 
happiness,  seek  for  someone  who  needs  you,  who 
begs  for  you,  and  who,  because  loneliness  is  death  to 
him,  will  never  cease  to  need  you.  Have  I  made  my- 
self clear?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mary.  "I  think  I  understand;  though 
I  do  not  say  I  agree. ' ' 

Sir  John  came  in  just  then,  opportunely  enough ;  and 
he  found  ConoUy  quite  willing  to  talk  about  the  pro- 
jects of  the  Company,  although  the  ladies  were  there- 
by excluded  from  any  part  or  interest  in  the  con- 
versation. Mary  took  the  opportunity  to  slip  away, 
unnoticed  save  by  her  hostess.  When  Conolly's  atten- 
tion was  released  by  Sir  John  going  to  the  library  for 
some  papers,  he  found  himself  alone  with  Lady 
Geraldine. 

"Mr.  Conolly,"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  overcoming, 
with  obvious  effort,  her  reluctance  to  speak  to  him: 
"although  you  were  of  course  not  aware  of  it,  you 
chose  a  most  unfortunate  moment  for  explaining  your 
views  to  Miss  Sutherland.  There  are  circumstances 
which  render  it  very  undesirable  that  her  judgment 
should  be  biassed  against  marriage  just  at  present." 

"I  hardly  follow  you,"  said  Conolly,  with  a 
benignant  self-possession  which  made  Lady  Geraldine 
privately  quail.  "Are  you  opposed  to  the  suit  of  Mr. 
Hoskyn?"  She  looked  at  him  in  consternation.  "I 
see  you  are  surprised  by  my  knowledge  of  Miss  Suther- 
land's affairs,"  he  continued.      "But  that  only  con- 


Love  Among  the  Artists  311 

vinces  me  that  you  do  not  know  Mr.  Hoskyn.  In 
business  matters  he  can  sometimes  keep  a  secret.  In 
personal  matters  he  is  indiscretion  personified. 
Everybody  in  Queen  Victoria  Street,  from  the  messen- 
ger to  the  Chairman,  is  informed  of  the  state  of  his 
affections." 

"But  why,  if  you  knew  this,  did  you  talk  as  you 
did?" 

"Because,"  said  he,  smiling  at  her  impatience,  "I 
did  not  then  know  that  you  disapproved  of  his 
proposal. ' ' 

"Mr.  Conolly,"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  trying  to 
speak  politely:  "I  don't  disapprove  of  it." 

"Then  we  are  somehow  at  cross  purposes.  I  too, 
approve;  and  as  Hoskyn  is  not,  to  my  knowledge, 
likely  to  be  a  hero  in  the  eyes  of  a  young  lady  of  Miss 
Sutherland's  culture,  I  ventured  to  warn  her  that  he 
might  be  all  the  better  qualified  to  make  her  happy." 

"I  told  her  so  myself.  But  if  you  want  to  encourage 
a  young  girl  to  marry,  surely  it  is  not  a  very  judicious 
thing  to  give  such  a  bad  account  of  your  own  married 
life " 

"Of  my  own  married  life?" 

"I  mean,"  said  Lady  Geraldine,  coloring  deeply,  "of 
your  own  experience  of  married  life — what  you  have 
observed  in  others."  She  stopped,  feeling  that  this 
was  a  paltry  evasion,  and  added,  "I  beg  your  pardon. 
I  fear  I  have  made  a  very  painful  blunder. ' ' 

"No.  An  allusion  to  my  marriage — from  you — 
does  not  pain  me.  I  know  your  sympathies  are  not 
with  me;  and  I  am  pleased  to  think  that  they  are 
therefore  where  they  are  most  needed  and  deserved. 
As  to  Miss  Sutherland,  I  do  not  think  that  what  I  said 


312  Love  Among  the  Artists 

will  have  the  effect  you  fear.  In  any  case,  my  words 
are  beyond  recall.  If  she  refuses  Mr.  Hoskyn,  I  shall 
bear  the  blame.  If  she  accepts  him,  I  will  claim  to 
have  been  your  ally. ' ' 

"She  would  be  angry  if  she  knew  that  you  were 
av/are,  all  the  time  you  were  talking,  of  her  position, '  * 

"Angry  with  me:  yes.  That  does  not  matter.  But 
if  she  knew  that  Mr.  Hoskyn  had  told  me  she  would 
be  angry  with  him;  and  that  would  matter  very 
much. ' ' 

Before  Lady  Geraldine  could  reply,  her  husband 
returned;  and  Conolly  withdrew  shortly  afterwards 
for  the  night. 

Next  day,  Mary  received  from  Hoskyn  a  second 
letter  begging  her  to  postpone  her  answer  until  he 
had  seen  her,  as  he  had  now  become  convinced  that 
such  matters  ought  to  be  conducted  personally  instead 
of  by  writing.  As  soon  as  he  had  ascertained  which 
hotel  was  the  nearest  to  Sir  John's  house,  he  would, 
he  wrote,  put  up  there,  and  ask  Mary  to  contrive  one 
long  interview.  She  was  not  to  mention  his  presence 
to  Lady  Geraldine,  lest  she  should  think  he  expected 
to  be  asked  on  a  visit.  Mary  immediately  made  Lady 
Geraldine  promise  that  he  should  not  be  asked  on  a 
visit;  and  then,  to  avoid  the  threatened  interview, 
made  up  her  mind  and  wrote  to  him  as  follows: 

Dear  Mr.  Hoskyn : — I  shall  not  give  you  the  trouble 
of  coming  down  here  to  urge  what  you  so  frankly 
proposed  in  your  first  letter.  I  trust  it  will  relieve 
your  anxiety  to  learn  that  I  have  decided  to  accept 
your  offer.  However,  as  the  position  we  are  now  in 
is  one  that  we  could  not  properly  maintain  whilst 
visiting  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  I  beg  that  you  will 


Love  Among  the  Artists  313 

give  up  all  idea  of  seeing  me  until  I  leave  Devonshire. 
My  social  duties  here  are  so  heavy  that  I  can  hardly, 
without  seeming  rude,  absent  myself  to  write  a  long 
letter.  I  suppose  you  will  go  back  to  Trouville  until 
we  all  return  to  London. 

I  am,  dear  Mr.  Hoskyn, 

Yours  sincerely, 
Mary  Sutherland. 

Mary  composed  this  letter  with  difficulty,  and  sub- 
mitted it  to  Lady  Geraldine,  who  said,  "It  is  not  very 
loving.  That  about  your  social  duties  is  a  fib.  And 
you  want  him  to  go  to  Trouville  because  he  cannot 
write  so  often. ' ' 

"I  can  do  no  better,"  said  Mary.  "But  you  are 
right.  I  will  burn  it  and  write  him  another,  refusing 
him  point  blank.     That  will  be  the  shortest." 

"No,  thank  you.  This  will  do  very  well."  And 
Lady  Geraldine  closed  it  with  her  own  hands  and  sent 
it  to  the  post.  Later  in  the  afternoon  Mary  said,  "I 
am  exceedingly  sorry  I  sent  that  letter.  I  have  found 
out  my  real  mind  about  Mr.  Hoskyn  at  last.  I  detest 
him." 

Lady  Geraldine  only  laughed  at  her. 


BOOK    II 


315 


CHAPTER   I 

One  evening  the  concert  room  in  St.  James's  Hall 
was  crowded  with  people  waiting  to  hear  the  first  public 
performance  of  a  work  by  Mr.  Owen  Jack,  entitled 
"Prometheus  Unbound."  It  wanted  but  a  minute  to 
eight  o'clock;  the  stalls  were  filling  rapidly;  the 
choristers  were  already  in  their  seats;  and  there  was 
a  din  of  tuning  from  the  band.  Not  far  from  the 
orchestra  sat  Mr.  John  Hoskyn,  with  a  solemn  air  of 
being  prepared  for  the  worst,  and  carefully  finished 
at  the  tie,  gloves  and  hair.  Next  him  was  his  wife,  in 
a  Venetian  dress  of  garnet  colored  plush.  Her  black 
hair  was  gathered  upon  her  neck  by  a  knot  of  deep  sea 
green;  and  her  dark  eyes  peered  through  lenses 
framed  in  massive  gold. 

On  the  foremost  side  bench,  still  nearer  to  the 
orchestra,  was  a  young  lady  with  a  beautiful  and 
intelligent  face.  She  was  more  delicately  shaped  than 
Mrs.  Hoskyn,  and  was  dressed  in  white.  Her 
neighbors  pointed  her  out  to  one  another  as  the 
Szczympliga;  but  she  was  now  Mrs.  Adrian  Herbert. 
Her  husband  was  with  her ;  and  his  regular  features 
seemed  no  less  refined  and  more  thoughtful  than  those 
of  his  wife.  Mrs.  Hoskyn  looked  at  him  earnestly  for 
some  time.  Then  she  turned  as  though  to  look  at  her 
husband;  but  she  checked  herself  in  this  movement, 
and  directed  her  attention  to  the  entry  of  Manlius. 

"I  have  counted   the    band,"   whispered    Hoskyn; 

317 


3i8  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"and  it's  eighty-five  strong.  They  can't  give  them 
much  less  than  seven  and  sixpence  apiece  for  the 
night,  which  makes  thirty-two  pounds  all  but  half  a 
crown,  without  counting  the  singers." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mary,  after  looking  round  appre- 
hensively to  see  whether  her  husband's  remark  had 
been  overheard.  "Five  pounds  apiece  would  be 
nearer  the — Hush. ' ' 

The  music  had  just  begun;  and  Hoskyn  had  to 
confine  his  repudiation  of  Mary's  estimate  to  an 
emphatic  shake  of  the  head.  The  overture,  anxiously 
conducted  by  Manlius,  who  was  very  nervous,  lasted 
nearly  half  an  hour.  When  it  was  over,  there  was 
silence  for  some  m.oments,  then  faint  applause,  then 
sounds  of  disapproval,  then  sufficient  applause  to 
overpower  these,  and  finally  a  buzz  of  conversation. 
A  popular  baritone  singer,  looking  very  uncomfort- 
able, rose  to  carry  on  his  part  of  a  dialogue  between 
Prometheus  and  the  earth,  which  was  the  next  number 
of  the  work.  The  chorus  singers  also  rose,  and  fixed 
their  eyes  stolidly  but  desperately  on  the  conductor, 
who  hardly  ventured  to  look  at  them.  The  dialogue 
commenced;  but  the  attention  of  the  audience  was 
presently  diverted  from  it  by  the  appearance  of  Jack 
himself,  who  was  seen  to  cross  the  room  with  an 
angry  countenance,  and  go  out.  The  conclusion  of 
the  dialogue  was  followed  by  unbroken  silence,  in  the 
midst  of  which  the  popular  baritone  sat  down  with  an 
air  of  relief. 

"I  find  that  the  music  is  beginning  to  grow  upon 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Hoskyn. 

"Do  you?"  said  Hoskyn.  "I  wish  it  would  grow 
quicker.     I'm  only  joking,"  he  added,  seeing  that  she 


Love  Among  the  Artists  319 

was  disappointed.  "It's  splendid.  I  wish  I  knew 
enough  about  it  to  like  it;  but  I  can  see  that  it  has 
the  real  classical  style.  When  those  brass  things  come 
in,  it's  magnificent." 

Two  eminent  songstresses  now  came  forward  as  Asia 
and  Panthea;  and  the  audience  prepared  themselves 
for  the  relief  of  a  pretty  duet.  But  Asia  and  Panthea 
sang  as  strangely  as  Prometheus,  in  spite  of  which 
they  gained  some  slow,  uncertain,  grudging  applause. 
The  "Race  of  the  Hours,"  which  followed,  was  of 
great  length,  progressing  from  a  lugubrious  midnight 
hour  in  E  flat  minor  to  a  sunrise  in  A  major,  and 
culminating  with  a  jubilant  clangor  of  orchestra  and 
chorus  which  astounded  the  audience,  and  elicited  a 
partly  hysterical  mixture  of  hand  clapping  and  protest- 
ing hisses. 

"How  stupid  these  people  are!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Adrian  Herbert.  "What  imbecility!  They  do  not 
know  that  it  is  good  music.     Heaven!" 

"I  must  confess  that,  to  my  ear,  there  is  not  a  note 
of  music  in  it, ' '  said  Adrian. 

"Is  it  possible!"  said  Aur^lie.  "But  it  is  superb! 
Splendid!" 

"It  is  ear  splitting,"  said  Adrian.  "Your  ears  are 
hardier  than  mine,  perhaps.  I  hope  we  shall  hear 
some  melody  in  the  next  part,  by  way  of  variety. '  * 

"Without  doubt  we  shall.  It  is  a  work  full  of 
melody. ' ' 

Herbert  was  confirmed  in  his  opinion  by  the  final 
number,  entitled,  "Antiphony  of  the  Earth  and 
Moon, ' '  which  was  listened  to  in  respectful  bewilder- 
ment by  the  audience,  and  executed  with  symptoms  of 
exhaustion  by  the  chorus. 


320  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"By  George,"  said  Hoskyn,  joining  heartily  in  some 
applause  which  began  in  the  cheaper  seats,  "that 
sounded  stupendous,     I'd  like  to  hear  it  again." 

The  clapping,  though  not  enthusiastic,  was  now 
general,  all  being  good  naturedly  willing  that  the  com- 
poser should  be  called  forward  in  acknowledgment  of 
his  efforts,  if  not  of  his  success.  Jack,  who  had 
returned  to  hear  the  "Race  of  the  Hours,"  again 
arose ;  and  those  who  knew  him  clapped  more  loudly, 
thinking  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  orchestra.  It 
proved  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  th-e  door;  for  he 
went  out  as  ungraciously  as  before. 

"How  disappointing!"  said  Mary.  "He  is  so 
hasty." 

"Serves  them  right,"  said  Hoskyn.  "I  like  his 
pluck;  and  you  make  take  my  word  for  it,  Mary,  that 
is  a  sterling  solid  piece  of  music.  It  reminds  me  of 
the  Pacific  railroad." 

"Of  course  it  is.  Even  you  can  see  that,"  said 
Mary,  who  did  not  quite  see  it  herself.  "It  is  mere 
professional  jealousy  that  prevents  the  people  here 
from  applauding  properly.  They  are  all  musicians  of 
some  kind  or  another. ' ' 

"They  are  going  to  give  us  ten  minutes  law  before 
they  begin  again.  Let  us  take  a  walk  round,  and  find 
what  Nanny  thinks." 

Meanwhile  Aurelie  was  excited  and  almost  in  tears. 
Mr.  Phipson  had  just  come  up  to  them,  shaking  his 
head  sadly.  "As  I  feared,"  he  said.  "As  I 
feared." 

"It  is  a  shame,"  she  said  indignantly,  "a  shame 
unworthy  of  the  English  people.  Of  what  use  is  it  to 
write  music  for  such  a  world?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  321 

**It  is  far  above  their  heads,"  said  Phipson.  "I 
told  him  so." 

"And  their  insolence  is  far  beneath  his  feet,"  said 
Aur61ie.  "Oh,  it  is  a  scene  to  plunge  an  artist  in 
despair. ' ' 

"It  does  not  plunge  me  into  despair,"  said  Adrian, 
with  quiet  conviction.  "The  work  has  failed;  and  I 
venture  to  say  that  it  deserved  to  fail. ' ' 

"It  is  unworthy  of  you  to  say  so,"  exclaimed  Aur^lie 
passionately,  throwing  herself  back  in  her  seat  and 
turning  away  from  him. 

"Deserved  is  perhaps  a  hard  word  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, Mr.  Herbert,"  said  Phipson.  "The  work 
is  a  very  remarkable  one,  and  far  beyond  the  com- 
prehension of  the  public.  Jack  has  been  much  too 
bold.  Even  our  audiences  will  not  listen  with 
patience  to  movements  of  such  length  and  complica- 
tion. I  greatly  regret  what  has  happened;  for  the 
people  who  are  attracted  by  our  concerts  are  repre- 
sentative of  the  highest  musical  culture  in  England. 
A  work  which  fails  here  from  its  abstruseness  has  not 
the  ghost  of  a  chance  of  success  elsewhere.  Ah! 
Here  is  Mary." 

Some  introductions  followed.  Hoskyn  shook 
Adrian's  hand  cordially,  and  made  a  low  bow  to 
Aur^lie,  whom  he  stole  an  occasional  glance  at,  but 
did  not  at  first  venture  to  address.  Aur61ie  looked  at 
Mary's  dress  with  wonder. 

"I  am  greatly  annoyed  by  the  way  Mr.  Jack  has 
been  treated, "  said  Mary.  "An  audience  of  working 
people  could  not  be  more  insensible  to  his  genius  than 
the  people  here  have  shewn  themselves  to-night." 

"My  wife  is  quite  angry  with  me  because  I,  too, 


322  Love  Among  the  Artists 

am  insensible  to  the  beauties  of  Mr.  Jack's  com- 
position," said  Herbert 

"You  always  were,"  said  Mary.  *'Mr.  Hoskyn  is 
delighted  with  Prometheus. ' ' 

"Is  Mr.  Hoskyn  musical?" 

"More  so  than  you,  it  appears,  since  he  can 
appreciate  Mr.  Jack." 

Phipson  then  struck  in  on  the  merits  of  the  music ; 
and  he,  Mary,  and  Adrian,  being  old  friends,  fell  into 
conversation  together,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  husband 
and  wife  so  recently  added  to  their  circle.  Hoskyn, 
under  these  circumstances,  felt  bound  to  entertain 
Aur^lie, 

"I  consider  that  we  have  had  a  most  enjoyable 
evening,"  he  said.  "I  think  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  Jack's  music  is  first  rate  of  its  kind," 

"Ah?  Monsieur  Jacques's  music.  You  find  it 
goodh." 

"Very  good  indeed,"  said  Hoskyn,  speaking  loudly, 
as  if  to  a  deaf  person.  "Jilitroovsplongdeed,"  he 
added  rashly. 

"You  are  right,  monsieur,"  said  Aur^lie,  speaking 
rapidly  in  French.  ' '  But  it  seems  to  me  that  there  is 
something  unworthy — infamous,  in  the  icy  stupidity 
of  these  people  here.  Of  what  use  is  it  to  compose 
great  works  when  one  is  but  held  in  contempt  because 
of  them?  It  is  necessary  to  be  a  trader  here  in  order 
to  have  success.  Commerce  is  the  ruin  of  England. 
It  renders  the  people  quite  anti-artistic." 

"Jinipweevoocomprongder,"  murmured  Hoskyn. 
"The  fact  is,"  he  added,  more  boldly,  "I  only  dropped 
a  French  word  to  help  you  out  a  little;  but  you 
mustn't  take  advantage  of  that  to  talk  to  me  out  of  my 


Love  Among  the  Artists  323 

native  language.  I  can  speak  French  pretty  well; 
but  I  never  could  understand  other  people  speaking 
it." 

"Ah,"  said  Aur^lie,  who  listened  to  his  English 
with  strained  attention.  "You  understand  me  not 
very  goodh.  It  is  like  me  with  English.  But  in  this 
moment  I  make  much  progress.  I  have  lesson  every 
day  from  Monsieur  Herbert." 

"You  speak  very  well.  Vooparlaytraybyang — 
tootafaycumoononglays.  Jinisoray — I  mean  I  should 
not  know  from  your  speaking  that  you  were  a 
foreigner — oonaytronzhare. ' ' 

"Vraiment?"  cried  Aur61ie,  greatly  pleased. 

"Vraymong,"  said  Hoskyn,  nodding  emphatically. 

"It  is  sthrench.  There  is  only  a  few  months  since  I 
know  not  a  word  of  the  English." 

"You  see  you  knew  the  universal  langfuage  before." 

"Comment?     La  langue  universelle?" 

"I  mean  music.  Music!"  he  repeated,  seeing  her 
still  bewildered. 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Aur^lie,  her  puzzled  expression 
vanishing.  "You  call  music  the  universal  language. 
It  is  true.     You  say  very  goodh. ' ' 

"It  must  be  easy  to  learn  anything  after  learning 
music.  Music  is  so  desperately  hard.  I  am  sure 
learning  it  must  make  people — spiritual,  you  know." 

"Yes,  yes.  You  observe  very  justly,  monsieur.  I 
am  quite  of  your  advice.     Understand  you?" 

"Parfatemong  byang,"  said  Hoskyn,  confidently. 

Here  Mary  interrupted  the  conversation  by  warn- 
ing her  husband  that  it  was  time  to  return  to  their 
places.     As  they  did  so,  she  said : 

"You  must  excuse  me  for  abandoning  you  to  the 


324  Love  Among  the  Artists 

Szczympliga,  John.  I  suppose  you  could  not  say  a 
word  to  one  another." 

"Why  not?  She's  a  very  nice  woman;  and  we  got 
on  together  splendidly.  I  always  do  manage  to  hit  it 
off  with  foreigners.  However,  it  was  easy  enough  in 
her  case;  for  she  could  speak  broken  English  and 
couldn't  understand  it,  whereas  I  could  speak  French 
but  couldn't  understand  the  way  she  talked  it — she's 
evidently  not  a  Frenchwoman.  So  she  spoke  to  me 
in  English ;  I  answered  her  in  French ;  and  we  talked 
as  easily  as  I  talk  to  you." 

Meanwhile  Adrian  could  not  refrain  from  comment- 
ing on  Mary's  choice.  "I  wonder  why  she  married 
that  man,"  he  said  to  Aur^lie.  "I  cannot  believe  that 
she  would  stoop  to  marry  for  money;  any  yet,  seeing 
what  he  is,  it  is  hard  to  believe  that  she  loves 
him." 

"But  why?"  said  Aur^lie.  "He  is  a  little  com- 
mercial; but  all  the  English  are  so.  And  he  is  a  man 
of  intelligence.     He  has  very  choice  ideas." 

''Vou  think  so,   Aur^lie!" 

"Certainly.  He  has  spoken  very  well  to  me.  I 
assure  you  he  has  a  very  fine  perception  of  music.  It 
is  difficult  to  understand  him,  because  he  does  not 
speak  French  as  well  as  I  speak  English;  but  it  is 
evident  that  he  has  reflected  much.  As  for  her,  she  is 
fortunate  to  have  so  good  a  husband.  What  an 
absurd  dress  she  wears!  In  any  other  part  of  the 
world  she  would  be  mocked  at  as  a  madwoman. 
Your  scientific  Mademoiselle  Sutherland  is,  in  my 
opinion,  no  great  things." 

Adrian  looked  at  his  wife  with  surprise,  and  with 
some   displeasure;  but   the  music  recommenced  just 


Love  Among  the  Artists  325 

then,  and  the  conversation  dropped.  Some  com- 
positions of  Mendelssohn  were  played;  and  these  he 
applauded  emphatically,  whilst  she  sat  silent  with 
averted  face.  When  the  concert  was  over  they  saw 
the  Hoskyns  drive  away  in  a  neat  carriage;  and 
Herbert,  who  had  never  in  his  bachelor  days  envied 
any  man  the  possession  of  such  a  luxury,  felt  sorry 
that  he  had  to  hire  a  hansom  for  his  wife's  accommo- 
dation. 

Adrian  had  not  yet  found  a  suitable  permanent 
residence.  They  lived  on  the  first  floor  of  a  house  in 
the  Kensington  Road.  Aurelie,  who  had  always  left 
domestic  matters  to  her  mother,  knew  little  about  house- 
keeping, and  could  not  be  induced  to  take  an  interest 
in  house-hunting.  The  landlady  at  Kensington  Road 
supplied  them  with  food;  and  Adrian  paid  a  heavy 
bill  every  week,  Aurelie  exclaiming  that  the  amount 
was  unheard  of,  and  the  woman  wicked,  but  not  taking 
any  steps  to  introduce  a  more  economical  system. 

They  reached  their  lodging  at  a  quarter  before 
twelve ;  and  Adrian,  when  Aur61ie  had  gone  upstairs, 
turned  out  the  gas  and  chained  the  door,  knowing 
that  the  rest  of  the  household  were  in  bed.  As  he 
followed  her  up,  he  heard  the  pianoforte,  and,  entering 
the  room,  saw  her  seated  at  it.  She  did  not  look 
round  at  him,  but  continued  playing,  with  her  face 
turned  slightly  upward  and  to  one  side — an  attitude 
habitual  to  her  in  her  musical  moments.  He  moved 
uneasily  about  the  room  for  some  time ;  put  aside  his 
overcoat;  turned  down  a  jet  of  gas  that  flared;  and 
re-arranged  some  trifles  on  the  mantelpiece.  Then 
he  said: 

"Is  it  not  rather  late  for  the  pianoforte,  Aurelie? 


326  Love  Among  the  Artists 

It  is  twelve  o'clock ;  and  the  people  of  the  house  must 
be  asleep." 

Aur^lie  started  as  if  awakened;  shrugged  her 
shoulders;  closed  the  instrument  softly;  and  went  to 
an  easy  chair,  in  which  she  sat  down  wearily. 

Herbert  was  dissatisfied  with  himself  for  interrupt- 
ing her,  and  angry  with  her  for  being  the  cause  of  his 
dissatisfaction.  Nevertheless,  looking  at  her  as  she 
reclined  in  the  chair,  and  seemed  again  to  have  for- 
gotten his  existence,  he  became  enamored. 

"My  darling!" 

"Eh?"  she  said,  waking  again.  "Qu'est-ce,  quec'est?" 

*'It  has  turned  rather  cold  to-night.  Is  it  wise  to  sit 
in  that  thin  dress  when  there  is  no  fire?" 

"I  do  not  know." 

"Shall  I  get  you  a  shawl?" 

"It  does  not  matter:  I  am  not  cold."  She  spoke  as 
if  his  solicitude  only  disturbed  her. 

"Aur^lie,"  he  said,  after  a  pause:  "I  heard  to-night 
that  my  mother  has  returned  to  town." 

No  answer. 

"Aurdlie,"  he  repeated  petulantly.  "Are  you 
listening  to  me?" 

"Yes.     I  listen."     But  she  did  not  look  at  him. 

"I  said  that  my  mother  was  in  town.  I  think  we 
had  better  call  on  her." 

"Doubtless  you  will  call  on  her,  if  it  pleases  you  to 
do  so.     Is  she  not  your  mother?" 

"But  you  will  come  with  me,  Aur61ie,  will  you  not?" 

"Never.     Never." 

"Not  to  oblige  me,  Aurdlie?" 

"It  is  not  the  same  thing  to  oblige  you  as  to  oblige 
your  mother.     I  am  not  married  to  your  mother," 


Love  Among  the  Artists  327 

Herbert  winced.  "That  is  a  very  harsh  speech  to 
English  ears,"  he  said. 

* '  I  do  not  speak  in  English :  I  speak  the  language  of 
my  heart.  Your  mother  has  insulted  me ;  and  you  are 
wrong  to  ask  me  to  go  to  her.  My  mother  has  never 
offended  you;  and  yet  I  sent  her  away  because  you 
did  not  like  her,  and  because  it  is  not  the  English 
custom  that  she  [should  continue  with  me.  I  know 
you  did  not  marry  her;  and  I  do  not  reproach  you 
with  harshness  because  she  is  separated  from  me.  I 
will  have  the  like  freedom  for  myself. ' ' 

"Aur^lie,"  cried  Herbert,  who  had  been  staring 
during  most  of  her  speech:  "you  are  most  unjust. 
Have  I  ever  failed  in  courtesy  towards  your  mother? 
Did  I  ever  titter  a  word  expressive  of  dislike  to  her?" 

"You  were  towards  her  as  you  were  towards  all  the 
world.     You  were  very  kind:  I  do  not  say  otherwise." 

"In  what  way  can  my  mother  have  insulted  you? 
You  have  never  spoken  to  her;  and  since  a  month 
before  our  wedding  she  has  been  in  Scotland. ' ' 

"Where  she  went  lest  I  should  speak  to  her,  no 
doubt.  Why  did  she  not  speak  to  me  when  I  last  met 
her?  She  knew  well  that  I  was  betrothed  to  you. 
She  is  proud,  perhaps.  Well,  be  it  so.  I  also  am 
proud.  I  am  an  artist;  and  queens  have  given  me 
their  hands  frankly.  Your  mother  holds  that  an 
English  lady  is  above  all  queens,  I  hold  that  an 
artist  is  above  all  ladies.  We  can  live  without  one 
another,  as  we  have  done  hitherto.  I  do  not  seek  to 
hinder  you  from  going  to  her;  but  I  will  not  go." 

"You  mistake  my  mother's  motive  altogether.  She 
is  not  proud — in  that  way.  She  was  angry  because  I 
did  not  allow  her  to  choose  a  wife  for  me. ' ' 


328  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Well,  she  is  angry  still,  no  doubt.  Of  what  use  is 
it  to  anger  her  further?" 

"She  has  too  much  sense  to  persist  in  protesting 
against  what  is  irrevocable.  You  need  not  fear  a  cold 
welcome,  Aur6He.  I  will  make  sure,  before  I  allow 
you  to  go,  that  you  shall  be  properly  received." 

"I  pray  you,  Adrian,  annoy  me  no  more  about  your 
mother.  I  do  not  know  her:  I  will  not  know  her.  It 
is  her  own  choice ;  and  she  must  abide  by  it.  Can  you 
not  go  to  her  without  me?" 

"Why  should  I  go  to  her  without  you?"  said  Adrian, 
distressed.  "Your  love  is  far  more  precious  to  me 
than  hers.  You  know  how  little  tenderness  there  is 
between  her  and  me.  But  family  feuds  are  very 
objectionable.  They  are  always  in  bad  taste,  and 
often  lead  to  serious  consequences.  I  wish  you  would 
for  this  once  sacrifice  your  personal  inclination,  and 
help  me  to  avert  a  permanent  estrangement." 

"Ah  yes,"  exclaimed  Aur^lie,  rising  indignantly. 
"You  will  sacrifice  my  honor  to  the  conventions  of 
your  world. ' ' 

"It  is  an  exaggeration  to  speak  of  such  a  trifle  as 
affecting  your  honor.  However,  I  will  say  no  more.  I 
would  do  much  greater  things  for  you  than  this  that 
you  will  not  do  for  me,  Aur^lie.  But  then  I  love 
you. ' ' 

"I  do  not  want  you  to  love  me,"  said  Aur^lie, 
turning  towards  the  door  with  a  shrug.  "Go  and 
love  somebody  else.  Love  Madame  Hoskyn ;  and  tell 
her  how  badly  your  wife  uses  you." 

Herbert  made  a  step  after  her.  "Aur^lie, "  he  said: 
"if  I  submit  to  this  treatment  from  you,  I  shall  be  the 
most  infatuated  slave  in  England." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  329 

"I  cannot  help  that.  And  I  do  not  like  you  when 
you  are  a  slave.     It  grows  late. ' ' 

"Are  you  going  to  bed  already?" 

"Already!  My  God,  it  is  half  an  hour  after  mid- 
night!    You  are  going  mad,  I  think." 

"I  think  I  am.  Aur61ie:  tell  me  the  truth  honestly 
now :  I  cannot  bear  to  discover  it  by  the  slow  torture 
of  watching  you  grow  colder  to  me.  Do  you  no  longer 
love  me?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  indifferently.  "I  do  not  love 
you  to-night,  that  is  certain.  You  have  been  very 
tiresome."  And  she  left  the  room  without  looking  at 
him.  For  some  moments  after  her  departure  he 
remained  motionless.  Then  he  set  his  lips  together; 
went  to  a  bureau  and  took  some  money  from  it;  put 
on  his  hat  and  overcoat;  and  took  a  sheet  of  paper 
from  his  desk.  But  after  dipping  a  pen  in  the  ink 
several  times,  he  cast  it  aside  without  writing  any- 
thing. As  he  did  so,  he  saw  on  the  mantelpiece  a 
little  brooch  which  Aur^lie  often  wore  at  her  throat. 
He  took  this  up,  and  was  about  to  put  it  into  his 
pocket,  when,  giving  way  to  a  sudden  impulse,  he 
dashed  it  violently  on  the  hearthstone.  He  then 
extinguished  the  light,  and  went  out.  When  he  had 
descended  one  stair,  he  heard  a  door  above  open,  and  a 
light  foot  fall  on  the  landing  above.  He  stopped  and 
held  his  breath. 

"Adrian,  my  dear,  art  thou  there?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"When  thou  comest,  bring  me  the  little  volume 
which  lies  on  the  piano.  It  is  red;  and  my  handker- 
chief is  between  the  pages  for  a  mark." 

He  hesitated  a  moment.     Then,  saying,  "Yes,  my 


33C?  Love  Among  the  Artists 

darling,"  meekly,  he  stole  back  into  the  drawing- 
room;  undid  his  preparations  for  flight;  got  the  red 
book;  and  went  upstairs,  where  he  found  his  wife  in 
bed,  placidly  unconscious  of  his  recent  proceedings, 
with  the  reading  lamp  casting  a  halo  on  her  pillow. 

It  was  Adrian's  habit  to  rise  promptly  when  the 
servant  knocked  at  his  door  at  eight  o'clock  every 
morning.  Aur^lie,  on  the  contrary,  was  lazy,  and 
often  left  her  husband  to  breakfast  by  himself.  On 
the  morning  after  the  concert  he  rose  as  usual,  and 
made  as  much  noise  as  possible  in  order  to  wake  her. 
Not  succeeding,  he  retired  to  his  dressing-room  and, 
after  a  great  splashing  and  rubbing,  returned  clad  in 
a  dressing  gown. 

*'Aur^lie."  A  pause,  during  which  her  regular 
breathing  was  audible.  Then,  more  loudly,  "  Aur61ie. " 
She  replied  by  a  murmur.  He  added,  very  loudly 
and  distinctly,  "  It  is  twenty  minutes  past  eight. ' ' 

She  moved  a  little,  and  uttered  a  strange  sound, 
which  he  did  not  understand,  but  recognized  as  Polish. 
Then  she  said  drowsily,  in  French,  "Presently." 

"At  once,  if  you  please,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand 
on  her  shoulder.     "Must  I  shake  you?" 

"No,  no,"  she  said,  rousing  herself  a  little  more. 
"Do  not  shake  me,  I  implore  you."  Then,  petulantly 
"I  will  not  be  shaken.  I  am  going  to  get  up.  Are 
there  any  letters?" 

"I  have  not  been  downstairs  yet." 

"Go  and  see." 

"You  will  be  sure  not  to  sleep  again." 

"Yes,  yes.  I  shall  be  down  almost  as  soon  as  yoiL 
Bring  me  up  the  letters,  if  there  are  any. ' ' 

He   returned    to   his    dressing-room;    finished    his 


Love  Among  the  Artists  331 

toilet;  and  went  downstairs.  There  were  some 
letters.  He  looked  at  them,  and  went  back  to  Aur^lie. 
She  was  fast  asleep. 

"Oh,  Aur61ie!  AuriSlie!  Really  it  is  too  bad.  You 
are  asleep  again. ' ' 

"How  you  disturb  me!"  she  said,  opening  her  eyes, 
and  sighing  impatiently.     "What  hour  is  it?" 

"You  may  well  ask.   It  is  twenty-five  minutes  to  nine." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"All!  Come,  Aurelie,  there  are  three  letters  for 
you.     Two  are  from  Vienna." 

Aur61ie  sat  up,  awake  and  excited.  "Quick,"  she 
said.     "Give  them  to  me. " 

"I  left  them  downstairs." 

"Oh,"  said  Aurelie,  disgusted.  Adrian  hurried  from 
the  room  lest  she  should  prevail  upon  him  to  bring  up 
the  letters.  He  occupied  himself  with  the  newspaper 
for  the  next  fifteen  minutes,  at  the  end  of  which  she 
appeared  and  addressed  herself  to  her  correspondence, 
leaving  him  to  pour  out  tea  for  himself  and  for  her. 
Nothing  was  said  for  some  time.  Then  she  exclaimed 
with  emphasis,  as  though  in  contradiction  of  what  she 
read. 

"But  it  is  certain  that  I  will  go." 

"Go  where?"  said  Adrian,  turning  pale. 

"To  Vienna — to  Prague — to  Budapesth,  my  beloved 
Budapesth. " 

"To  Vienna!" 

"They  are  going  to  give  a  Schumann  concert  in 
Vienna.  They  want  me ;  and  they  shall  have  me.  I 
have  a  specialty  for  the  music  of  Schumann :  no  one  in 
the  world  can  play  it  as  I  can.  And  I  long  to  see 
my  Viennese  friends.     It  is  so  stupid  here." 


332  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"But,  Aur^lie,  I  have  my  work  to  do,  I  cannot  go 
abroad  at  this  season  of  the  year." 

"It  is  not  necessary.  I  did  not  think  of  asking-  you 
to  come.  No.  My  mother  will  accompany  me  every- 
where.    She  likes  our  old  mode  of  life." 

"You  mean,  in  short,  to  leave  me,"  he  said,  looking 
shocked. 

"My  poor  Adrian,"  she  said,  leaning  over  to  caress 
him:  "wilt  thou  be  desolate  without  me?  But  fret 
not  thyself :  I  will  return  with  much  money,  and  con- 
sole thee.  Music  is  my  destiny,  as  painting  is  thine. 
We  shall  be  parted  but  a  little  time." 

Adrian  was  pained,  but  could  only  look  wistfully  at 
her  and  say,  "You  seem  to  enjoy  the  prospect  of  leav- 
ing me,  Aurdlie." 

"I  am  tired  of  this  life.  I  am  forgotten  in  the 
world;  and  others  take  my  place." 

"And  will  you  be  happier  in  Vienna  than  here?" 

"Assuredly.  Else  wherefore  should  I  desire  to  go? 
When  I  read  in  the  journals  of  all  the  music  in  which 
I  have  no  share,  I  almost  die  of  impatience." 

"And  I  sometimes,  when  I  am  working  alone  in  my 
studio,  almost  die  of  impatience  to  return  to  your 
side." 

"Bah!  That  is  another  reason  for  my  going.  It  is 
not  good  for  you  to  be  so  loving. ' ' 

"I  fear  that  it  too  true,  Aur^lie.  But  will  it 
be  good  for  you  to  have  no  one  near  you  who  loves 
you?" 

"Oh,  those  who  love  me  are  everywhere.  In  Vienna 
there  is  a  man — a  student — six  feet  high,  with  fair 
hair,  who  gets  a  friend  to  make  me  deplorable  verses 
which  he  pretends    are    his  own.     Heaven,  how    he 


Love  Among  the  Artists  333 

loves  me !  At  Leipzig  there  is  an  old  professor,  almost 
as  foolish  as  thou,  my  Adrian.  Ah,  yes:  I  shall  not 
want  for  lovers  anywhere." 

"Aurelie,  are  you  mad,  or  cruel,  or  merely  simple, 
that  you  say  these  things  to  me?" 

"Are  you  then  jealous?  Ha!  ha!  He  is  jealous  of 
my  fair-haired  student  and  of  my  old  professor.  But 
fear  nothing,  my  friend.  For  all  these  men  my 
mother  is  a  veritable  dragon.  They  fear  her  more 
than  they  fear  the  devil,  in  whom,  indeed,  they  do  not 
believe." 

"If  I  cannot  trust  you,  Aurelie,  I  cannot  trust  your 
mother. '  * 

"You  say  well.  And  when  you  do  not  trust  me, 
you  shall  never  see  me  again.  I  was  only  mocking. 
But  I  must  start  the  day  after  to-morrow.  You  must 
come  with  me  to  Victoria,  and  see  that  my  luggage  is 
right.  I  shall  not  know  how  to  travel  without  my 
mother." 

"Until  you  are  in  her  hands,  I  will  not  lose  sight  of 
you,  my  dear  treasure,"  said  Adrian  tenderly.  "You 
will  write  often  to  me,  will  you  not,  Aurelie?" 

"I  cannot  write — you  know  it,  Adrian.  Mamma 
shall  write  to  you:  she  always  has  abundance  to  say. 
I  must  practise  hard;  and  I  cannot  sit  down  and 
cramp  my  fingers  with  a  pen.  I  will  write  occasionally 
— I  am  sure  to  want  something." 

Adrian  finished  his  breakfast  in  silence,  glancing  at 
her  now  and  again  with  a  mixture  of  rapture  and 
despair. 

"And  so,"  he  said,  when  the  meal  was  over,  "I  am  to 
lose  you,  Aur61ie." 

"Go,  go,"  she  replied:  "I  have  much  preparation  to 


334  Love  Among  the  Artists 

make;  and  you  are  in  my  way.  Yon  must  paint  hard 
in  your  studio  until  very  late  this  evening." 

"I  thoiight  of  giving  myself  a  holiday,  and  staying 
at  home  with  you,  dearest,  as  we  are  so  soon  to  be 
separated. ' ' 

"Impossible,"  cried  Aurelie,  alarmed.  "My  God, 
what  a  proposition!  You  must  stay  away  more  than 
ever.  I  have  to  practise,  and  to  think  of  my  dresses : 
I  must  absolutely  be  alone."  Adrian  took  up  his  hat 
dejectedly.  "My  soul,  my  life,  how  I  tear  thy  heart!" 
she  added  fondly,  taking  his  face  between  her  hands, 
and  kissing  him.  He  went  out  pained,  humiliated, 
and  ecstatically  happy. 

Aurelie  was  busy  all  the  morning.  Early  in  the 
afternoon  she  placed  Schumann's  concerto  in  A  minor 
on  the  desk  of  the  pianoforte;  arranged  her  seat  be- 
fore it;  and  left  the  room.  When  she  returned, 
she  had  changed  her  dress,  and  was  habited  in 
silk.  She  bore  her  slender  and  upright  figure  more 
proudly  before  her  imaginary  audience  than  she 
usually  ventured  to  do  before  a  real  one ;  and  when 
she  had  taken  her  place  at  the  instrument,  she  played 
the  concerto  as  she  was  not  always  fortunate  enough 
to  play  it  in  public.  Before  she  had  finished  the 
door  was  thrown  open;  and  a  servant  announced 
"Mrs.  Herbert."  Aurelie  started  up  frowning,  and 
had  but  just  time  to  regain  her  thoughtful  expres- 
sion and  native  distinction  of  manner  when  her 
mother-in-law  entered,  looking  as  imposing  as  a  well- 
bred  Englishwoman  can  without  making  herself  ridic- 
ulous. 

"I  fear  I  disturbed  you,"  she  said,  advancing 
graciously. 


Love  Among  the  Artists     ^         335 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  very  honored,  madame.  Please 
to  sit  down." 

Mrs.  Herbert  had  intended  to  greet  her  son's  wife 
with  a  kiss.  But  Atir61ie,  giving  her  hand  with 
dignified  courtesy,  was  not  approachable  enough  for 
that.  She  was  not  distant;  but  neither  was  she 
cordial.     Mrs.  Herbert  sat  down,  a  little  impressed. 

"Is  it  a  long  time,  madame,  that  you  are  in  London?" 

"I  only  arrived  the  day  before  yesterday,"  replied 
Mrs.  Herbert  in  French,  which,  like  Adrian,  she  spoke 
fluently.  "I  am  always  compelled  to  pass  the  winter 
in  Scotland,  because  of  my  health. ' ' 

"The  climate  of  Scotland,  then,  is  softer  than  that 
of  England.     Is  it  so?" 

"It  is  perhaps  not  softer;  but  it  suits  me  better," 
said  Mrs.  Herbert,  looking  hard  at  Aurelie,  who  was 
gazing  pensively  at  the  fireplace. 

"Your  health  is,  I  hope,  perfectly  re-established?" 

"Perfectly,  thank  you.  Are  you  quite  sure  I  have 
not  interrupted  you?  I  heard  you  playing  as  I  came 
in ;  and  I  know  how  annoying  a  visit  is  when  it  inter- 
feres with  serious  employment." 

"I  am  very  content  to  be  entertained  by  you, 
madame,  instead  of  studying  solitarily. ' ' 

"You  still  study?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"You  are  very  fond  of  playing,  then? 

"It  is  my  profession." 

"Since  I  am  Adrian's  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert 
with  some  emphasis,  as  if  she  thought  that  fact  was 
being  overlooked,  "will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you  a 
question?" 

Aurelie  bowed. 


336  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Do  you  study  with  a  view  to  resuming  your  public 
career  at  some  future  time?" 

"Surely.     I  am  going  to  play  next  week  at  Vienna." 

Mrs.  Herbert  bent  her  head  in  surprised  assent  to 
this  intelligence.  "I  thought  Adrian  contemplated 
your  retirement  into  private  life,"  she  said.  "How- 
ever, let  me  hasten  to  add  that  I  think  you  have  shewn 
great  wisdom  in  overruling  him.  Will  he  accompany 
you  abroad?" 

"It  is  not  necessary  that  he  should.  I  shall  travel, 
as  usual,  with  my  mother." 

"Your  mother  is  qiiite  well,  I  hope?" 

"Quite  well,  thank  you,  madame." 

Then  there  was  a  gap  in  the  conversation,  Mrs. 
Herbert  felt  that  she  was  being  treated  as  a 
distinguished  stranger  in  her  son's  house ;  but  she  was 
uncertain  whether  this  was  the  effect  of  timidity  or 
the  execution  of  a  deliberate  design  on  Aur61ie's  part. 
Inclining  to  the  former  opinion,  she  resolved  to  make 
an  advance. 

"My  dear,"  she  said:  "may  I  ask  how  your  friends 
usually  call  you?" 

"Since  my  marriage,  my  friends  usually  call  me 
Madame  Szczympliga " 

"I  could  not  call  you  that,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Herbert,   smiling.     "I  could   not  pronounce  it." 

"It  is  incorrect,  of  course,"  continued  Aur^lie. 
without  responding  to  the  smile;  "but  it  is  customary 
for  artists  to  retain,  after  marriage,  the  name  by 
which  they  have  been  known.  I  intend  to  do  so.  My 
English  acquaintances  call  me  Mrs.  Herbert." 

"But  what  is  your  Christian  name?" 

"Aur^lie.      But  that  is  only  used  by  my  husband 


Love  Among  the  Artists  337 

and  my  mother — and  by  a  few  others  who  are  dear 
to  me." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  with  some  impatience, 
"as  it  is  quite]  impossible  for  me  to  address  you  as 
Mrs.  Herbert,  I  must  really  ask  you  to  let  me  call  you 
Aurelie." 

"Whatever  is  customary,  madame,"  said  Aurelie, 
bending  her  head  submissively.  "You  know  far 
better  than  I." 

Mrs.  Herbert  watched  her  in  silence  after  this, 
wondering  whether  she  was  a  knave  or  fool — whether 
to  attack  or  encourage  her. 

"You  enjoyed  your  voyage  in  Scotland,  I  hope." 
said  Aurelie,  dutifully  making  conversation  for  her 
guest. 

"Very  much  indeed.  But  I  grew  a  little  tired  of  it, 
and  shall  probably  remain  in  London  now  until  August. 
When  may  I  expect  to  see  you  at  my  house?" 

"You  are  very  good,  madame:  I  am  very  sensible  of 
your  kindness.  But — "  Mrs.  Herbert  looked  up 
quickly — "I  set  out  immediately  for  Vienna,  whence 
I  go  to  Leipzig  and  many  other  cities.  I  shall  not  be 
at  my  own  disposal  again  for  a  long  time." 

Mrs.  Herbert  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then  rose. 
Aurelie  rose  also. 

"Adieu,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert  sauvely,  offering  her 
hand. 

"Adieu,  madame,"  said  Aurelie,  saluting  her  with 
earnest  courtesy.  Then  Mrs.  Herbert  withdrew.  On 
reaching  the  street  she  hailed  a  hansom,  and  drove  to 
her  son's  studio  in  the  Fulham  Road.  She  found  him 
at  his  easel,  working  more  rapidly  and  less  attentively 
than  in  the  old  days. 


338  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"How  d'ye  do,  mother,"  he  said.  "Sit  down  on  the 
throne."  The  throne  was  a  chair  elevated  on  a 
platform  for  the  accommodation  of  live  models.  "We 
should  have  gone  to  see  you;  but  Aur61ie  is  going 
abroad.     She  has  not  a  moment  to  spare." 

"No,  Adrian,  that  is  precisely  what  you  should  not 
have  done,  though  doubtless  you  might  have  done  it. 
It  was  my  duty  to  call  upon  your  wife  first;  and  I 
have  accordingly  just  come  from  your  house." 

"Indeed?"  said  Adrian  eagerly,  and  a  little 
anxiously.     "Did  you  see  Aurelie?" 

"I  saw  Aurelie." 

"Well?     What  do  you  think  of  her?" 

"I  think  her  manners  perfect,  and  her  dress  and 
appearance  above  criticism." 

"And  was  there — did  you  get  on  well  together?" 

"Your  wife  is  a  lady,  Adrian;  and  I  am  a  lady. 
Under  such  circumstances  there  is  no  room  for 
unpleasantness  of  any  kind.  It  is  quite  understood, 
though  unexpressed,  that  I  shall  not  present  myself  at 
your  house  again,  and  that  your  wife's  engagements 
will  prevent  her  from  returning  my  visit." 

"Mother!     Are  you  serious?" 

* '  Quite  serious,  Adrian.  I  have  come  on  here  to  ask 
you  whether  your  wife  merely  carries  out  your 
wishes,  or  whether  she  prefers  for  herself  not  to 
cultivate  acquaintances  in  your  family. ' ' 

"Pshaw!  You  must  have  taken  some  imaginary 
offence." 

"Is  that  the  most  direct  and  sensible  answer  you 
can  think  of?" 

"There  is  no  lack  of  sense  in  the  supposition  that 
Aurelie,  being  a  foreigner,  may  not  understand  the 


Love  Among  the  Artists  339 

English  etiquette  for  the  occasion.  You  may  have 
mistaken  her.     Even  you  are  fallible,  mother." 

"I  have  already  told  you  that  your  wife's  manners 
are  perfect.  If  you  assume  that  my  judgment  is  not 
to  be  relied  on,  there  is  no  use  in  our  talking  to  one 
another  at  all.  What  I  wish  to  know  is  this.  Admit- 
ting, for  the  sake  of  avoiding  argument,  that  I  am 
right  in  my  view  of  the  matter,  did  your  wife  behave 
as  she  did  by  your  orders,  or  of  her  own  free  will?" 

"Most  certainly  not  by  my  orders,"  said  Adrian, 
angrily.  "I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  giving  her  orders. 
If  I  were,  they  should  not  be  of  that  nature.  If 
Aur^lie  treated  you  with  politeness,  I  do  not  see  what 
more  you  had  any  right  to  expect.  She  admired  you 
greatly  when  she  first  saw  you;  but  I  know  she  was 
hurt  by  your  avoidance  of  her  after  our  engagement 
became  known,  even  when  you  were  in  the  same 
room  with  her. ' ' 

"She  has  not  the  least  right  to  feel  aggrieved  on 
that  account.  It  was  your  business  to  have  introduced 
her  to  me  as  the  lady  you  intended  to  marry." 

"I  did  not  feel  encouraged  to  do  so  by  what  had 
passed  between  us  on  the  subject,"  said  Adrian, 
coldly. 

"Well  we  need  not  go  over  that  again.  I  merely 
wish  to  ask  you  whether  you  expect  me  to  make  any 
further  concessions.  You  have  lately  acquired  a 
habit  of  accusing  me  of  various  shortcomings  in  my 
duty  to  you;  and  I  do  not  wish  you  to  impute  any 
estrangement  between  your  wife  and  me  to  my 
neglect.  I  have  called  on  her ;  and  she  did  not  ask  me 
to  call  again.  I  endeavored  to  treat  her  as  one  of  my 
family:    she   politely    insisted    on    the   most    distant 


340  Love  Among  the  Artists 

acquaintanceship.  I  asked  her  to  call  on  me ;  and  she 
excused  herself.     Could  I  have  done  more?" 

"I  think  you  might,  in  the  first  instance," 

"Can  I  do  more  now?" 

"You  can  answer  that  yourself  better  than  I  can. " 

"I  fear  so,  since  you  seem  unable  to  give  me  a 
straightforward  or  civil  answer.  However,  if  you 
have  nothing  to  suggest,  please  let  it  be  understood 
in  future  that  I  was  perfectly  willing  to  receive  your 
wife ;  that  I  made  the  usual  advances ;  and  that  they 
came  to  nothing  through  her  action,  not  through 
mine." 

"Very  well,  though  I  do  not  think  the  point  will 
excite  much  interest  in  the  world." 

"Thank  you,  Adrian.  I  think  I  will  go  now.  I 
hope  you  treat  your  wife  in  a  more  manly  and  con- 
siderate way  than  you  have  begun  to  treat  me  of  late." 

"She  does  not  complain,  mother.  And  I  never 
intended  to  treat  you  inconsiderately.  But  you  some- 
times attack  me  in  a  fashion  which  paralyses  my  con- 
stant wish  to  conciliate  you.  I  am  sorry  you  have  not 
succeeded  better  with  Aurelie." 

"So  am  I.  I  did  not  think  she  was  long  enough 
married  to  have  lost  the  wish  to  please  you.  Perhaps, 
though,  she  thought  she  would  please  you  best  by 
holding  aloof  from  me." 

"You  are  full  of  unjust  suspicion.  The  fact  is  just 
the  contrary.  She  knows  that  I  have  a  horror  of 
estrangements  in  families." 

"Then  she  does  not  study  very  hard  to  please  you." 

Adrian  reddened,  and  was  silent. 

"And  you?  Are  you  still  as  infatuated  as  you  were 
last  year?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  341 

*'Yes,"  said  Adrian  defiantly,  with  his  cheeks  burn- 
ing. "I  love  her  more  than  ever.  I  am  longing  to  be 
at  home  with  her  at  this  moment.  When  she  goes 
away,  I  shall  be  miserable.  Of  all  the  lies  invented 
by  people  who  never  felt  love,  the  lie  of  marriage 
extinguishing  love  is  the  falsest,  as  it  is  the  most 
worldly  and  cynical." 

Mrs.  Herbert  looked  at  him  in  surprise  and  doubt. 
"You  are  an  extraordinary  boy,"  she  said.  "Why 
then  do  you  not  go  with  her  to  the  Continent?" 

"She  does  not  wish  me  to,"  said  Herbert  shortly, 
averting  his  face,  and  pretending  to  resume  his  work. 

"Indeed!"  said  Mrs.  Herbert.  "And  you  will  not 
cross  her,  even  in  that?" 

"She  is  quite  right  to  wish  me  to  stay  here.  I 
should  only  be  wasting  time ;  and  I  should  be  out  of 
place  at  a  string  of  concerts.  I  will  stay  behind — if  I 
can." 

"If  you  can?" 

"Yes,  mother,  if  I  can.  But  I  believe  I  shall  rejoin 
her  before  she  is  absent  a  week.  I  may  have  been  an 
indifferent  son;  and  I  know  I  am  a  bad  husband;  but 
I  am  the  most  infatuated  lover  in  the  world." 

"Yet  you  say  you  are  a  bad  husband!" 

"Not  to  her.     But  I  fall  short  in  my  duty  to  myself." 

Mrs.  Herbert  laughed.  "Do  not  let  that  trouble 
you,"  she  said.  "Time  will  cure  you  of  that  fault,  if 
it  exists  anywhere  but  in  your  imagination.  I  never 
knew  a  man  who  failed  in  taking  care  of  himself. 
Goodbye,  Adrian." 

"Goodbye,  mother." 

"What  an  ass  I  am  to  speak  of  my  feelings  to  her!" 
he  said  to  himself,  when  she  was  gone.     "Well,  well: 


342  Love  Among  the  Artists 

at  least  if  she  does  not  understand  them,  she  does 
not  pretend  to  do  so.  No,  she  has  not  sympathy- 
enough  for  that.  She  did  not  even  ask  to  see  my 
pictures.  That  would  have  hurt  me  once.  At  present 
I  have  exchanged  the  burden  of  disliking  my  mother 
for  the  heavier  one  of  loving  my  wife. "  He  sighed, 
and  resumed  his  work  in  spite  of  the  fading  light. 


CHAPTER   II 

One  moonlit  night,  in  an  empty  street  in  Paris,  a 
door  suddenly  opened;  and  three  persons  were  thrust 
violently  out  with  much  scuffling  and  cursing.  One 
of  them  was  a  woman,  elegantly  dressed,  but  flushed 
with  drink  and  excitement.  The  others  were  a  loose- 
jointed,  large-boned,  fair  young  Englishman  of  about 
eighteen  or  twenty,  and  a  slim  Frenchman  with 
pointed  black  moustaches  and  a  vicious  expression. 
The  Englishman,  like  the  woman,  was  heated  and 
intoxicated:  his  companion  was  angry,  but  had  not 
lost  his  self-control.  The  moment  they  passed  the 
threshold,  the  door  was  slammed;  and  the  younger 
man,  without  heeding  the  torrent  of  foul  utterance  to 
which  the  woman  promptly  betook  herself,  began 
kicking  the  panels  furiously. 

*'Bah!"  said  the  woman,  recovering  herself  with  a 
shrill  laugh.  "Come,  Anatole."  And  she  drew  away 
her  compatriot,  who  was  watching  the  door-kicking 
process  derisively. 

"Hallo!"  shouted  the  Englishman,  hurrying  after 
them.  "Hallo,  you!  This  lady  stays  with  me,  if  you 
please.  I  should  think  that  she  has  had  about  enough 
of  you,  you  damned  blackleg,  since  she  has  been 
pitched  out  of  a  gambling  hell  on  your  account.  You 
had  better  clear  out  unless  you  want  your  neck 
broken — and  if  you  were  anything  like  a  fair  match  for 
me,  I'd  break  it  as  soon  as  look  at  you." 

343 


344  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"What  does  he  say,  Nata?"  whispered  the  French- 
man, keeping  his  eye  on  the  other  as  if  he  guessed  his 
meaning. 

The  woman,  with  an  insolent  snap  of  her  fingers, 
made  a  perfunctory  translation  of  as  much  of  the 
Englishman's  speech  as  she  understood. 

*'Look  you,  little  one."  said  the  Frenchman, 
advancing  to  within  a  certain  distance  of  his  adversary, 
"the  night  air  is  not  good  for  you.  I  would  counsel 
you  to  go  home  and  put  yourself  to  bed,  lest  I  should 
have  to  give  your  nurse  the  trouble  of  carrying  you 
thither, ' ' 

"You  advise  me  to  go  to  bed,  do  you?  I'll  let  you 
see  all  about  that,"  retorted  the  young  man,  posing 
himself  clumsily  in  the  attitude  of  an  English  pugilist, 
and  breathing  scorn  at  his  opponent.  Anatole 
instantly  dealt  him  a  kick  beneath  the  nose  which 
made  him  stagger.  The  pain  of  it  was  so  intolerable 
that  he  raised  his  right  hand  to  his  mouth.  The 
moment  he  thus  uncovered  his  body,  the  Frenchman 
turned  swiftly,  and,  looking  back  at  his  adversary  over 
his  shoulder,  lashed  out  his  toe  with  the  vigor  of  a 
colt,  and  sent  it  into  the  pit  of  the  young  man's 
stomach,  flinging  him  into  the  roadway  supine,  breath- 
less, and  all  but  insensible. 

"Ha!"  said  Anatole,  panting  after  this  double  feat. 
'^ Prrrr'lotte!     So  much  for  thy  English  boxer,  Nata." 

"  'Cr^  matin!  what  a  devil  thou  art,  Anatole. 
Come :  let  us  save  ourselves. 

A  minute  later  the  street  was  again  as  quiet,  and, 
except  for  the  motionless  body  in  the  roadway,  as 
solitary  as  before.  Presently  a  vehicle  entered  from 
a  side  street.     It  was  a  close  carriage  like  an  English 


Love  Among  the  Artists  345 

brougham,  and  contained  one  passenger,  a  lady  with  a 
white  woollen  shawl  wrapped  about  her  head,  and  an 
opera  cloak  over  her  rich  dress.  She  was  leaning 
back  in  a  deep  reverie  when  the  horse  stopped  so  sud- 
denly that  she  was  thrown  forward;  and  the  coach- 
man uttered  a  warning  cry.  Recovering  herself,  she 
looked  out  of  the  window,  and,  saw,  with  a  sickening 
sensation,  a  man  stagger  out  on  his  hands  and  knees 
from  between  the  horse's  feet,  and  then  roll  over  on 
his  back  with  a  long  groaning  sigh, 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  the  lady,  hastily  opening  the 
carriage  door,  and  alighting,  "Bring  me  one  of  the 
lamps.  It  is  a  young  gentleman.  Pray  God  he  be  not 
dead." 

The  coachman  reluctantly  descended  from  his 
box,  and  approached  with  a  lamp.  The  lady  looked 
at  him  impatiently,  expecting  him  to  lift  the  insensible 
stranger;  but  he  only  looked  down  dubiously  at  him, 
and  kept  aloof. 

"Can  you  not  rouse  him,  or  help  him  to  stand  up?" 
she  said  indignantly. 

"I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  that,"  said  the  man, 
"Better  not  meddle  with  him.  It  is  an  affair  for  the 
police." 

The  lady  pouted  scornfully  and  stooped  over  the 
sufferer,  who  lifted  his  eyes  feebly.  Seeing  her  face, 
he  opened  his  eyes  widely  and  quickly,  looking  up  at 
her  with  wonder,  and  raising  his  hand  appealingly. 
She  caught  it  without  hesitation,  and  said  anxiously: 

"You  are  better  now,  monsieur,  are  you  not?  I 
hope  you  are  not  seriously  hurt." 

"Wha's  matter?"  said  the  5''oung  man  indistinctly. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  she  repeated  in  English. 


34^  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Nor'  at  all,"  he  replied,  with  drunken  joviality. 
Then  he  attempted  to  laugh,  but  immediately  winced, 
and  after  a  few  plunges  staggered  to  his  feet.  The 
coachman  recoiled ;  but  the  lady  did  not  move, 

"Where  is  he?"  he  continued,  looking  round.  **Yah! 
You'll  kick,  will  you?  Come  out,  you  coward.  Come 
out  and  shew  yourself.  Yah !  Kick  and  then  run  away 
and  hide !  I'll  slog  the  kicking  out  of  you.  Will  you  face 
me  with  your  fists  like  a  man?"  He  uttered  the  last 
sentence  with  a  sudden  accession  of  fury,  and  menaced 
the  coachman,  who  retreated.  The  stranger  struck  at 
him,  but  the  blow,  reaching  nothing,  swung  the  striker 
round  until  he  was  face  to  face  with  the  lady,  whom 
he  contemplated  with  astonishment. 

"I  beg  your  par'n, "  he  said,  subsiding  into  humble- 
ness. "I  really  beg  your  par'n.  The  fellow  gave  me 
a  fearf '  kick  in  the  face ;  and  I  har'ly  know  where  I 
am  yet.  'Pon  my  soul,"  he  added  with  foolish  glee, 
"it's  the  mos'  'xtror'nary  thing.    Where  has  he  gone?" 

"Of  whom  do  you  speak?"  said  the  lady  in 
French, 

"Of — of — ^je  parle  d'un  polisson  qui  m'a  donn6  un 
affreux  coup  de  pied  under  the  nose.  J'ai  un  grand 
d^sir  d'enf oncer  ce  lache  maudit. " 

"Unhappily,  monsieur,  it  was  my  horse  that  hurt 
you.     I  am  in  despair " 

"No,  no.  I  tell  you  it  was  a  fellow  named  Annatoal, 
a  card  sharper.  If  I  ever  catch  him  again,  I'll  teach 
him  the  English  version  of  the  savate:  I'll  kick  him 
from  one  end  of  Paris  to  the  other. "  As  he  spoke  he 
reeled  against  the  carriage,  and,  as  the  horse  stirred 
uneasily,  clutched  at  the  door  to  save  himself  from 
falling. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  347 

"Madame,"  said  the  coachman,  who  had  been  look- 
ing anxiously  for  the  approach  of  the  police:  *'do  you 
not  see  that  this  is  a  sot?  Better  leave  him  to 
himself." 

"I  am  not  drunk,"  said  the  young  man  earnestly  "I 
have  been  drinking;  but  upon  my  solemn  word  I  am 
not  drunk.  I  have  been  attacked  and  knocked  about 
the  head;  and  I  feel  very  queer,  I  can't  remember 
how  you  came  here  exactly,  though  I  remember  your 
picking  me  up.     I  hope  you  won't  leave  me." 

The  lady,  moved  by  his  boyish  appearance  and  the 
ingenious  faith  with  which  he  made  this  appeal,  was 
much  perplexed,  pitying,  but  not  knowing  what  to  do 
with  him.  "Where  do  you  live?"  she  said.  "I  will 
drive  you  home  with  pleasure." 

He  became  very  red.  "Thanks  awfully,"  he  said; 
"but  the  fact  is,  I  don't  live  anywhere  in  particular. 
I  must  go  to  some  hotel.  You  are  very  kind;  but  I 
won't  trouble  you  any  further.  I  am  all  right  now." 
But  he  was  evidently  not  all  right ;  for  after  standing 
a  moment  away  from  the  carriage,  shamefacedly 
waiting  for  the  lady  to  reply,  he  sat  down  hastily  on 
the  kerbstone,  and  added,  after  panting  a  little,  "You 
must  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Herbert.  I  can't  stand  very 
well  yet.  You  had  better  leave  me  here :  I  shall  pick 
myself  up  presently. ' ' 

'■'■Tiens,  tiens,  tieiis !  You  seem  to  know  me, 
monsieur.  I,  too,  recollect  your  face,  but  not  your 
name. ' ' 

"Everybody  knows  you.  You  may  have  seen  me  at 
Mrs.  Phipson's,  in  London.  I've  been  there  when  you 
were  there.  But  really  you'd  better  drive  on.  This 
house  is  a  gambling  den ;  and  the  people  may  come 


34^  Love  Among  the  Artists 

out  at  any  minute.  Don  t  let  your  carriage  be  seen 
stopping  here." 

"But  I  hardly  like  to  leave  you  here  alone  and  hurt. " 

"Never  mind  me:  it  serves  me  right.  Besides,  I'd 
rather  you'd  leave  me,  I  would  indeed." 

She  turned  reluctantly  towards  the  carriage ;  put  her 
foot  on  the  step ;  and  looked  back.  He  was  gazing  wist- 
fully after  her.  "But  it  is  inhuman!"  she  exclaimed, 
returning.  "Come,  monsieur,  I  dare  not  leave  you 
in  such  a  condition :  it  is  the  fault  of  my  horse.  I  will 
bring  you  where  you  shall  be  taken  care  of  until  you 
are  restored." 

"It's  awfully  good  of  you,"  he  murmured,  rising 
unsteadily  and  making  his  way  to  the  carriage  door, 
which  he  held  whilst  she  got  in.  He  followed,  and 
was  about  to  place  himself  bashfully  on  the  front  seat, 
when  the  coachman,  ill-humoredly  using  his  whip, 
started  the  vehicle  and  upset  him  into  the  vacant  space 
next  Aur61ie.  He  muttered  an  imprecation,  and  sat 
bolt  upright  for  a  moment.  Then,  sinking  back 
against  the  cushion,  and  moving  his  hand  until  it 
touched  her  dress,  he  said  drowsily,  "It's  really  mos' 
awf'ly  good  of  you;"  and  fell  asleep. 

He  was  roused  by  a  shaking  which  made  his  head 
ache.  An  old  and  ugly  woman  held  him  by  one 
shoulder;  and  the  coachman,  cursing  him  for  a 
besotted  pig,  was  about  to  drag  him  out  by  the  other. 
He  started  up  and  got  out  of  the  carriage,  the  two 
roughly  saving  him  from  stumbling  forward.  In  spite 
of  his  protests  that  he  could  walk  alone  they  pulled 
him  indoors  between  them.  He  struggled  to  free  him- 
self ;  but  the  woman  was  too  strong  for  him :  he  was 
hauled  ignominiously  into  a  decent  room,  where  a  sofa 


Love  Among  the  Artists  349 

had  been  prepared  for  him  with  a  couple  of  rugs  and 
a  woman's  shawl.  Here  he  was  forced  to  lie  down, 
and  bidden  to  be  quiet  until  the  doctor  came.  The 
coachman,  with  a  parting  curse,  then  withdrew;  and 
his  voice,  deferentially  pitched,  was  audible  as  he 
reported  what  he  had  done  to  the  lady  without. 
There  was  another  person  speaking  also;  but  she 
spoke  in  a  tone  of  vehement  remonstrance,  and  in  a 
strange  language. 

"Look  here,  ma'am,"  said  the  young  man  from  the 
sofa.  "You  needn't  trouble  sending  for  a  doctor. 
There's  nothing  the  matter  with  me." 

"Silence,  great  sot,"  chattered  the  old  woman.  "I 
have  other  things  to  do  than  to  listen  to  thy  gib- 
berish.    Lay  thyself  down  this  instant." 

"Will  I,  by  Jove!"  he  said,  kicking  off  the  rug  and 
sitting  up.  "Can  you  buy  soda  water  anywhere  at 
this  hour?" 

"Ah,  ingrate!  Is  it  thus  that  thou  obey  est  the 
noble  lady  who  succored  thee.     Fie!" 

"What  is  the  matter,  madame,"  said  Aur^lie, 
entering. 

"I  was  only  asking  her  not  to  send  for  a  doctor.  I 
have  no  bones  broken ;  and  a  doctor  is  no  use.  Please 
don't  fetch  one.  If  I  could  have  a  little  plain  water — 
or  even  soda  water — to  drink,  I  should  be  all  right." 
Whilst  he  was  speaking,  an  old  lady  appeared  behind 
Aur^lie.  She  seemed  to  suffer  from  a  severe  cold; 
for  she  had  tied  up  her  face  in  a  red  handkerchief, 
which  gave  her  a  grim  aspect  as  she  looked  resentfully 
at  him. 

"I  shall  bring  you  some  drink,"  said  Aurelie  quietly. 
"Mamma,"   she  added,   turning   to   the    older  lady: 


350  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"pray  return  to  your  bed.  Your  face  will  be  swollen 
again  if  you  stand  in  the  draught.  I  have  but  to  get 
this  young  gentleman  what  he  asks  for." 

"The  young  gentleman  has  no  business  here,"  said 
the  lady.  "You  are  imprudent,  Aurelie,  and  fright- 
fully self-willed."  She  then  disappeared.  The 
stranger  reddened  and  attempted  to  rise;  but  Aurelie, 
also  blushing,  quieted  him  by  a  gesture,  whilst  the  old 
woman  shook  her  fist  at  him.  Aurelie  then  left  the 
room,  promising  to  return,  and  leaving  him  alone  with 
the  woman,  who  seized  the  opportunity  to  recommence 
her  reproaches,  which  were  too  voluble  to  be  intel- 
ligible to  the  English  ears  of  the  patient. 

"You  may  just  as  well  hold  your  tongue,"  he  said, 
as  she  paused  at  last  for  a  reply;  "for  I  don't  under- 
stand a  word  you  say. ' ' 

"Say  then,  coquin,"  repeated  the  woman,  "what 
wert  thou  doing  in  the  roadway  there  when  thou 
gotst  beneath  the  horse's  feet?" 

"Je'  m'6tais  evanoui. " 

"How?  Ah,  I  understand.  But  why?  What 
brought  thee  to  such  a  pass?" 

"N'importe.  C'est  pas  convenablepour  une  jeune 
femme  d'entendre  des  pareilles  choses.  That  ought 
to  fetch  you,  if  you  can  understand  it. ' ' 

"Ah,  thou  mockest  me.  Knowest  thou,  profligate, 
that  thou  art  in  my  apartment,  and  that  I  have  the 
right  to  throw  thee  out  through  the  door  if  I  please. 
Eh?" 

"Votre  discours  se  fait  tr^s  p^nible,  ma  m^re. 
Voulez  vous  avoir  la  bont€  de  shut  up?" 

"What  does  that  mean?"  said  the  woman,  checked 
by  the  unknown  verb. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  351 

"Oh,  you  are  talking  too  much,"  said  Aur^lie, 
returning  with  some  soda  water.  "You  must  not 
encourage  him  to  speak,  madame." 

"He  needs  little  encouragement,"  said  the  old 
woman,  "You  are  far  too  good  for  him,  made- 
moiselle." 

"How  do  you  feel  now,  monsieur?     Better,  I  hope." 

"Thanks  very  much:  I    feel  quite  happy.     I  have 

something  to  shew  you.     Just  wait  a "     Here  he 

twisted  himself  round  upon  his  elbow,  and  after  some 
struggling  with  the  rug  and  his  coat,  pulled  from  his 
breast  pocket  some  old  letters,  which  presently  slipped 
from  his  hand  and  were  scattered  on  the  floor. 

"Sot,"  cried  the  old  woman,  darting  at  them,  and 
angrily  pushing  back  the  hand  with  which  he  was 
groping  for  them.  "Here — put  them  up  again. 
What  has  madame  to  do  with  thy  letters,  thinkst  thou?" 

"Don't  you  be  in  a  hurry,  Mrs.  Jones,"  he  retorted 
confidently,  beginning  to  fumble  at  the  letters.  ' '  Where 
the — I'll  take  my  oath  I  had  it  this  mor — oh,  here  it 
is.  Did  you  ever  see  him  before?"  he  asked  trium- 
phantly, handing  a  photograph  to  Aurelie. 

''Tiens!  it  is  Adrian,"  she  exclaimed.  "My  hus- 
band^^"  she  added,  to  the  old  woman,  who  received  the 
explanation  sardonica^.^S  "Are  you  then  a  friend  of 
Monsieur  Herbert?" 

"I  have  known  him  since  I  was  a  boy,"  said  the 
youth.  Aurelie  smiled :  she  thought  him  a  boy  still. 
"But  this  was  only  taken  last  week,"  she  said.  "I 
have  only  just  received  a  copy  for  myself.  Did  he 
send  it  to  you?" 

"My  sister  sent  it  to  me.  I  suppose  you  know  who 
I  am  now. ' ' 


352  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"No,  truly,  monsieur.  I  have  seen  you  certainly; 
but  I  cannot  recall  your  name. ' ' 

"You've  seen  me  at  Phipson's,  talking  to  Mr.  Jack, 
Can't  you  guess?" 

Aur^lie  shook  her  head.  The  old  woman,  curious, 
but  unable  to  follow  a  conversation  carried  on  by  one 
party  in  French  and  by  the  other  in  English,  muttered 
impatiently,  "What  gibberish!     It  is  a  horror." 

The  youth  looked  shyly  at  Aurdlie.  Then,  as  if 
struck  by  a  new  thought,  he  said,  "My  name  is — 
Beatty. ' ' 

Aur^lie  bowed.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "I  have  assuredly 
heard  my  husband  speak  of  that  name.  I  am  greatly 
troubled  to  think  that  your  misfortune  should  have 
been  brought  about  by  my  carriage,  Madame :  Mon- 
sieur Beatty  will  need  a  pillow.  Will  you  do  me  the 
kindness  to  bring  one  from  my  room?" 

Monsieur  Beatty  began  to  protest  that  he  would 
prefer  to  remain  as  he  was ;  but  he  was  checked  by  a 
gesture  from  the  woman,  who  silently  pointed  to  a 
pillow  which  was  in  readiness  on  a  chair. 

"Ah,  true.  Thank  you,"  said  Aur61ie.  "Now,  let 
me  see.  Yes,  he  had  better  have  my  little  gong,  in 
case  he  should  become  wor'se  in  the  night,  and  need 
to  summon  help.  It  is  <  m 'ly  dressing  table,  I 
believe." 

The  old  woman  looked  hard  at  Aur^lie  for  a 
moment,  and  withdrew  slowly. 

"Now  that  that  lady  is  gone,"  said  the  patient, 
blushing,  "I  want  to  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  for 
the  way  you  have  helped  me.  If  you  knew  what  I 
felt  when  I  opened  my  eyes  as  I  lay  there  on  the  stones, 
and  saw  your  face  looking  down  at  me,  you  would  feel 


Love  Among  the  Artists  353 

sure,  without  being  told,  that  I  am  ready  to  do  any- 
thing to  prove  my  gratitude.  I  wish  I  could  die  for 
you.  Not  that  that  would  be  much;  for  my  life  is 
not  worth  a  straw  to  me  or  anyone  else.  I  am  old 
enough  to  be  tired  of  it. ' ' 

"Young  enough  to  be  tired  of  it,  you  mean,"  said 
Aur^lie,  laughing,  but  pleased  by  his  earnestness. 
"Well,  I  do  not  doubt  that  you  are  very  grateful. 
How  did  you  come  under  my  carriage?  Were  you 
really  knocked  down;  or  did  you  only  dream  it?" 

"I  was  really  knocked  down.  I  can't  tell  you  how 
it  came  about.  It  served  me  right;  for  I  was  where 
I  had  no  business  to  be — in  bad  company." 

"Ah,"  said  Aurelie  gravely,  approaching  him  with 
the  pillow.  "You  must  not  do  so  any  more,  if  we  are 
to  remain  friends." 

"I  will  never  do  so  again,  so  help  me  God!"  he  pro- 
tested. "You  have  cured  me  of  all  taste  for  that  sort 
of  thing. ' ' 

"Raise  yourself  for  one  moment — so,"  said  Aurelie, 
stooping  over  him  and  placing  the  pillow  beneath  his 
head.  His  color  rose  as  he  looked  up  at  her.  Then, 
as  she  was  in  the  act  of  withdrawing,  he  uttered,  a 
stifled  exclamation;  threw  his  arm  about  her;  and 
pressing  his  lips  to  her  cheek,  was  about  to  kiss  her, 
when  he  fell  back  with  a  sharp  groan,  and  lay  bathed 
in  perspiration,  and  flinching  from  the  pain  of  his 
wounded  face.  Aurelie,  astonished  and  outraged, 
stood  erect  and  regarded  him  indignantly. 

"Ah,"  she  said.  "That  was  an  unworthy  act. 
You^  whom  I  have  succored — my  husband's  friend! 
My  God,  is  it  possible  that  an  English  gentleman  can 
be  so  base!" 


354  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Curse  the  fellow!"  cried  the  young  man,  writhing 
and  shedding  tears  of  pain.  "Give  me  something  to 
stop  this  agony — some  chloroform  or  something. 
Send  for  a  doctor.     I  shall  go  mad.     Oh,  Lord!" 

"You  deserve  it  well,"  said  Aurelie.  "Come,  mon- 
sieur, control  yourself.  This  is  childish. "  As  he  sub- 
sided, exhausted,  and  only  fetching  a  deep  sigh  at 
intervals,  she  relented  and  called  the  old  woman,  who 
seemed  to  have  been  waiting  outside;  for  she  came 
at  once. 

"He  has  hurt  his  wound,"  said  Aurelie  in  an  under- 
tone.    "What  can  we  do  for  him?" 

The  woman  shrugged  herself,  and  had  nothing  to 
suggest.  "Let  him  make  the  best  of  it,"  she  said. 
"I  can  do  nothing  for  him." 

They  stood  by  the  sofa  and  watched  him  for  some 
time  in  silence.  At  last  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  began 
to  appear  more  at  his  ease. 

"Would  you  like  to  drink  something?"  said  Aur61ie, 
coldly. 

"Yes." 

"Give  him  some  soda  water,"  she  said  to  the  old 
woman. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said,  speaking  indistinctly  in  his 
effort  to  avoid  stirring  his  upper  lip.  "I  don't  want 
anything.  The  cartilage  of  my  nose  is  frightfully 
tender;  but  the  pain  is  going  off." 

"It  is  now  very  late;  and  I  must  retire,  monsieur. 
Can  we  do  anything  further  to  insure  your  comfort?" 

"Nothing,  thank  you."  Aurelie  turned  to  go. 
"Mrs.  Herbert."  She  paused.  "I  suppose  no  one 
could  behave  worse  than  I  have.  Never  mind  my 
speaking  before  the  old  lady:  she  doesn't  understand 


Love  Among  the  Artists  355 

me.  I  wish  you  would  forgive  me.  I  have  been 
severely  punished.  You  cannot  even  imagine  the 
torture  I  have  undergone  in  the  last  ten  minutes." 

'*If  you  regret  your  conduct  as  you  ought,"  began 
Aur^lie  severely. 

"I  am  ashamed  of  it  and  of  myself;  and  I  will  try 
hard  to  be  sorry — in  fact,  I  am  very  sorry  I  was  dis- 
appointed, I  should  be  more  than  mortal  if  I  felt 
otherwise.     But  I  will  never  do  such  a  thing  again." 

"Adieu,  monsieur,"  said  Aur^lie  coldly.  "I  shall 
not  see  you  again,  as  you  will  be  gone  before  I  am 
abroad  to-morrow."  And  she  left  the  room  with  a 
gravity  that  quelled  him. 

"What  hast  thou  been  doing  now,  rogue?"  said  the 
old  woman,  preparing  to  follow  Aurelie.  "What  is  it 
thou  shouldst  regret? " 

By  way  of  reply,  he  leered  at  her,  and  stretched  out 
his  arms  invitingly. 

"Thou  shalt  go  out  from  my  house  to-morrow,"  she 
said  threateningly;  and  went  out,  taking  the  lamp 
with  her.  He  laughed,  and  composed  himself  for  sleep. 
But  he  was  thirsty  and  restless,  and  his  face  began 
to  pain  him  continuously.  The  moon  was  still  shining; 
and  by  its  light  he  rose  and  prowled  about  softly  in 
his  stockings,  prying  into  drawers  and  chiffoniers,  and 
bringing  portable  objects  to  the  window,  where  he 
could  see  them  better.  When  he  had  examined  every- 
thing, he  sparred  at  the  mantelpiece,  and  imagined 
himself  taking  vengeance  on  Anatole.  At  last,  having 
finished  the  soda  water,  he  lay  down  again,  and  slept 
uneasily  until  six  o'clock,  when  he  rose  and  looked  at 
himself  in  a  mirror.  His  hair  was  dishevelled  and 
dusty;  his  lip  discolored;  his  eyes  were  inflamed;  but 


356  Love  Among  the  Artists 

the  thought  of  rubbing  his  soiled  face  with  a  towel,  or 
even  touching  it  with  water,  made  him  wince.  Seeing 
that  he  was  unpresentable,  and  being  sober  enough  to 
judge  of  his  last  night's  conduct,  he  resolved  to  make 
off  before  any  of  the  household  were  astir.  Accord- 
ingly, he  made  himself  as  clean  as  he  could  without 
hurting  himself.  From  his  vest  pockets,  which  con- 
tained fourteen  francs,  an  English  halfcrown,  a 
latchkey,  a  lead  pencil,  and  a  return  ticket  to  Charing 
Cross,  he  took  ten  francs  and  left  them  on  the  table 
with  a  scrap  of  paper  inscribed  "Pour  la  belle  pro- 
prietaire — Hommage  du  miserable  Anglais."  Then, 
after  some  hesitation,  he  wrote  on  another  scrap, 
which  he  directed  to  Aur61ie,  as  follows : 

"I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for  behaving  like  an 
unmitigated  cad  last  night.  As  I  was  not  sober  and 
had  had  my  sense  almost  knocked  out  of  me  by  a  foul 
blow,  I  was  hardly  accountable  for  what  I  was  doing. 
I  can  never  repay  your  kindness  nor  expiate  my 
own  ingratitude;  but  please  do  not  say  anything 
about  me  to  Mr,  Herbert,  as  you  would  get  me  into 
no  end  of  trouble  by  doing  so.  I  am  running  away 
early  because  I  should  be  ashamed  to  look  you  in  the 
face  now  that  I  have  recovered  my  senses. 

"Yours  most  gratefully " 

He  took  several  minutes  to  consider  how  he  should 
sign  this  note.  Eventually  he  put  the  initial  C  only. 
After  draining  the  soda  water  bottle  of  the  few  flat 
and  sickly  drops  he  had  left  in  it  the  night  before,  he 
left  the  room  and  crept  downstairs,  where  he  suc- 
ceeded in  letting  himself  out  without  alarming  the 
household.  The  empty  street  looked  white  and 
spacious  in  the  morning  sun;  and  the  young  man — 
first  lookinof  round  to  see  that  no  one  was  at  hand  to 


Love  Among  the  Artists  357 

misinterpret  his  movements — took  to  his  heels  and  ran 
until  he  turned  a  corner  and  saw  a  policeman,  who 
seemed  half  disposed  to  arrest  him  on  suspicion. 
Escaping  this  danger,  he  went  on  until  he  found  a 
small  eating  house  where  some  workmen  were  break- 
fasting. Here  he  procured  a  cheap  but  plentiful  meal, 
and  was  directed  to  the  railway  station,  whither  he 
immediately  hastened,  A  train  had  just  arrived  as  he 
entered.  As  he  stood  for  a  moment  to  watch  the 
passengers  coming  out,  a  hand  was  laid  gently  on  his 
arm.  He  turned,  and  confronted  Adrian  Herbert, 
who  looked  at  him  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"Well,  Charlie,"  he  said:  "so  this  is  Hounslow,  is 
it?  What  particular  branch  of  engineering  are  you 
studying  here?" 

"Who  told  you  I  was  at  Hounslow?"  said  Charlie, 
with  a  grin. 

"Your  father,  whom  I  met  yesterday  at  Mrs. 
Hoskyn's.  He  told  me  that  you  were  working  very 
hard  at  engineering  with  a  tutor.  I  am  sorry  to  see 
that  your  exertions  have  quite  knocked  you  up." 

"On  the  contrary,  somebody  else's  exertions  have 
knocked  me  down.  No,  I  ran  over  here  a  few  days 
ago  for  a  little  change.  Of  course  I  didn't  mention  it 
to  the  governor:  he  thinks  Paris  a  sink  of  iniquity. 
You  needn't  mention  it  to  him  either,  unless  you 
like." 

"I  hope  I  am  too  discreet  for  that.  Did  you  know 
that  Mrs.  Herbert  is  in  Paris?" 

''  "Is  she?  No,  I  didn't  know  it:  I  thought  she  was 
with  you  in  Kensington.  I  hope  you  will  have  a  good 
time  here. ' ' 

"Thank  you.     How  long  do  you  intend  to  stay?" 


358  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Oh,  I  am  going-  back  directly.  If  I  don't  get  a 
train  soon,  I  shall  starve;  for  I  have  only  two  or  three 
francs  left  to  keep  me  in  sandwiches  during  the 
voyage. ' ' 

"Draw  on  me  if  you  are  inconvenienced." 

"Thanks,"  said  Charlie,  coloring;  "but  I  can  get 
on  well  enough  with  what  I  have — at  least,  if  you  could 
spare  me  five  francs — Thanks  awfully.  I  have  run  a 
rig  rather  this  time;  for  I  owe  Mary  five  pounds 
already  on  the  strength  of  this  trip.  It  is  a  mistake 
coming  to  Paris.     I  wish  I  had  stayed  at  home." 

"Well,  at  least  you  have  had  some  experience  for 
your  money.  What  has  happened  to  your  lip?  Is  it 
a  bruise?" 

"Yes,  I  got  a  toss.  It's  nothing.  I'm  awfully 
obliged  to  you  for " 

"Not  at  all.  Have  you  breakfasted  yet?  What, 
already!  You  are  an  early  bird.  I  was  thinking  of 
asking  you  to  breakfast  with  me.  I  do  not  wish  to 
disturb  my  wife  too  early ;  and  so  will  have  to  kill  time 
for  a  while.  By  the  bye,  have  you  ever  been  intro- 
duced to  her?" 

"No,"  said  Charlie  hastily;  "but  nothing  would 
induce  me  to  face  her  in  this  trim.  I  know  I  look  a 
perfect  blackguard.  I  can't  wash  my  face;  and  I 
have  got  a  blue  and  green  spot  right  here" — touching 
the  hollow  of  his  chest — "which  would  make  me 
screech  if  anyone  rubbed  me  with  a  brush.  In  fact  I 
shall  take  it  as  a  particular  favor  if  you  won't  mention 
to  her  that  you  have  met  me.  Not  that  it  matters 
much,  of  course;  but  still " 

"Very  well,  I  shall  not  breathe  a  word  of  it  to  any- 
one.    Goodbye. ' ' 


Love  Among  the  Artists  359 

Charlie  shook  his  hand;  and  they  parted.  "Now," 
thought  Charlie,  looking  after  him  with  a  grin,  and 
jingling  the  borrowed  money  in  his  pocket,  "if  his 
wife  will  only  hold  her  tongue,  I  shall  be  all  right.  I 
wish  she  was  my  wife."  And  heaving  a  sigh,  he 
walked  slowly  away  to  inquire  about  the  trains. 

Herbert  breakfasted  alone.  When  his  appetite  was 
appeased,  he  sat  trying  to  read,  and  looking  repeatedly 
at  his  watch.  He  had  resolved  not  to  seek  his  wife 
until  ten  o'clock ;  but  he  had  miscalculated  his  patience; 
and  he  soon  convinced  himself  that  half  past  nine,  or 
even  nine,  would  be  more  convenient.  Eventually  he 
arrived  at  ten  minutes  to  nine,  and  found  Madame 
Szczympliga  alone  at  table  in  an  old  crimson  bedgown, 
with  her  hair  as  her  pillow  had  left  it. 

"Monsieur  Adrian!"  she  exclaimed,  much  discom- 
posed. "Ah,  you  take  us  by  surprise.  I  had  but  just 
stepped  in  to  make  coffee  for  the  little  one.  She  will 
be  enchanted  to  see  you.     And  I  also." 

"Do  not  let  me  disturb  you.  I  have  breakfasted 
already.     Is  Aurelie  up?" 

"She  will  be  here  immediately.  How  delighted  she 
will  be!     Are  you  quite  well?" 

"Not  badly,  madame.     And  you?" 

"I  have  suffered  frightfully  with  my  face.  Last 
night  I  was  unable  to  go  to  the  concert  with  Aurelie. 
It  is  a  great  misfortune  for  me,  this  neuralgia." 

"I  am  very  sorry.  It  is  indeed  a  terrible  affliction. 
Are  you  quite  sure  that  Aurelie  is  not  fast  asleep?" 

"I  have  made  her  coffee,  mon  cher;  and  I  know 
her  too  well  to  do  that  before  she  is  afoot.  Trust  me, 
she  will  be  here  in  a  moment.  I  hope  it  is  nothing 
wrong  that  has  brought  you  to  Paris." 


360  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Oh  no.  I  wanted  a  little  change;  and  when  you 
came  so  near,  I  determined  to  run  over  and  meet  you. 
You  have  been  all  round  Europe  since  I  last  saw  you." 

"Ah,  what  successes,  Monsieur  Adrian!  You  can- 
not figure  to  yourself  how  she  was  received  at  Buda- 
pesth.     And  at  Leipzig  too!     It  was — behold  her!" 

Aur^lie  stopped  on  the  threshold  and  regarded 
Adrian  with  successive  expressions  of  surprise,  protest 
and  resignation.  He  advanced  and  kissed  her  cheek 
gently,  longing  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  but  restrained 
by  the  presence  of  her  mother.  Aurelie  paused  on 
her  way  to  the  table  just  long  enough  to  suffer  this 
greeting,  and  then  sat  down,  exclaiming: 

"I  knew  it!  I  knew  it  from  that  last  letter!  Oh 
thou  silly  one !  Could  not  Mrs.  Hoskyn  console  thee 
for  yet  another  week?" 

"How  indifferent  she  is!"  said  Madame  Szczympliga. 
"She  is  glad  at  heart  to  see  you,  Mr.  Adrian."  Now, 
this  interference  of  his  mother- in  law,  though  made 
with  amiable  intention,  irritated  Herbert.  He  smiled 
politely,  and  turned  a  little  away  from  her  and  towards 
Aurelie. 

"And  so  you  have  had  nothing  but  triumphs  since 
we  parted,"  he  said,  gazing  fondly  at  her. 

"What  do  you  know  of  my  triumphs!"  she  said, 
raising  her  head.  "You  only  care  for  the  tunes  that 
one  whistles  in  the  streets!  At  Prague  I  turned  the 
world  upside  down  with  Monsieur  Jacque's  fantasia. 
How  long  do  you  intend  to  stay  here?" 

"Until  you  can  return  with  me,  of  course." 

"A  whole  week.  You  will  be  tired  of  your  life, 
unless  you  go  to  the  Louvre  or  some  such  stupidity, 
and  paint." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  361 

"I  shall  be  content,  Aur^lie,  never  fear.  Perhaps 
you  will  grow  a  little  tired  of  me," 

"Oh  no.  I  shall  be  too  busy  for  that.  I  have  to 
practise,  and  to  attend  rehearsals,  and  concerts,  and 
private  eng-agements.  Oh,  I  shall  not  have  time  to 
think  of  you. ' ' 

"Private  engagements.  Do  you  mean  playing  at 
private  houses?" 

"Yes.  This  afternoon  I  play  at  the  reception  of  the 
Princess — what  is  she  called,  mamma?" 

"It  does  not  matter  what  she  is  called,"  said 
Herbert.  "Surely  you  are  not  paid  for  playing  on 
such  occasions?" 

"What!  You  do  not  suppose  that  I  plaj''  for  nothing 
for  people  whom  I  do  not  know — whose  very  names  I 
forget.  No,  I  play  willingly  for  my  friends,  or  for 
the  poor;  but  if  the  great  world  wishes  to  hear  me,  it 
must  pay.  Why  do  you  look  so  shocked?  Would  you, 
then,  decorate  the  saloon  of  the  Princess  with  pictures 
for  nothing,  if  she  asked  you?" 

"It  is  not  exactly  the  same  thing — at  least  the  world 
does  not  think  so,  Aurelie.  I  do  not  like  the  thought 
of  you  going  into  society  as  a  hired  entertainer." 

Aurelie  shrugged  herself.  "I  must  go  for  some 
reason,"  she  said,  "If  they  did  not  pay  me  I  should 
not  go  at  all.  It  is  an  artist's  business  to  do  such 
things." 

"My  dear  Mr,  Adrian,"  said  Madame  Szczympliga, 
"she  is  always  the  most  honored  guest.  The  most  dis- 
tinguished persons  crowd  about  her;  and  the  most 
beautiful  women  are  deserted  for  her.  It  is  always  a 
veritable  little  court  that  she  holds. ' ' 

"It  is  as  I  thought,"  said   Aurelie.      "You  came 


362  Love  Among  the  Artists 

across  the  Channel  only  to  quarrel  with  me."  Herbert 
attempted  to  protest ;  but  she  went  on  without  heeding 
him.     "Mamma:  have  you  finished  your  breakfast?" 

"Yes,  my  child." 

"Then  go;  and  put  off  that  terrible  robe  of  thine. 
Leave  us  to  ourselves :  if ^  we  must  quarrel,  there  is 
no  reason  why  you  should  be  distressed  by  our 
bickerings. ' ' 

"1  hope  you  are  not  really  running  away  from  me," 
said  Herbert,  politely  accompanying  Madame  Szczym- 
pliga  to  the  door,  and  opening  it  for  her. 

"No,  no,  mon  cher,''  she  replied  with  a  sigh.  "I 
must  do  as  I  am  bidden.  I  grow  old;  and  she 
becomes  a  greater  tyrant  daily  to  all  about  her." 

"Now,  malcontent,"  said  Aurdlie,  when  the  door 
was  closed,  "proceed  with  thy  reproaches.  How  many 
thousand  things  hast  thou  to  complain  of?  Let  us  hear 
how  sad  it  has  made  thee  to  think  that  I  have  been 
happy  and  successful,  and  that  thou  hast  not  once  been 
able  to  cast  my  happiness  back  in  my — Heaven! 
wouldst  thou  eat  me,  Adrian?"  He  was  straining 
her  to  his  breast  and  kissing  her  vehemently. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said  breathlessly.  "Love  is 
altogether  selfish.  Every  fresh  account  of  your  tri- 
umphs only  redoubled  my  longing  to  have  you  back 
with  me  again.  You  do  not  know  what  I  suffered 
during  all  these  weary  weeks.  I  lived  in  my  studio, 
and  tried  to  paint  you  out  of  my  head;  but  I  could  not 
paint  your  out  of  my  heart.  My  work,  which  once 
seemed  a  wider  and  greater  thing  than  my  mind  could 
contain,  was  only  a  wearisome  trade  to  me.  I 
rehearsed  imaginary  versions  of  our  next  meeting  for 
hours    together,   whilst    my   picture    hung    forgotten 


Love  Among  the  Artists  363 

before  me.  I  made  a  hundred  sketches  of  you,  and, 
in  my  rage  at  their  badness,  destroyed  them  as  fast  as 
I  made  them.  In  the  evenings,  I  either  wandered 
about  the  streets  thinking  of  you " 

"Or  went  to  see  Mrs.  Hoskyn?" 

"Who  told  you  that?"  said  Herbert,  discomfited. 

"Ah!"  cried  Aur^lie,  laughing — almost  crowing 
with  delight,  "I  guessed  it.  Oh,  that  poor  Monsieur 
Hoskyn!  And  me  also!  Is  this  thy  fidelity — this  the 
end  of  all  thy  thoughts  of  me?" 

"I  wish  your  jealousy  were  real,"  said  Herbert, 
with  a  sort  of  desperation.  "I  believe  you  would  not 
care  if  I  had  gone  to  Mrs.  Hoskyn  as  her  lover.  Why 
did  I  go  to  her?  Simply  because  she  was  the  only 
friend  I  had  who  would  listen  patiently  whilst  I  spoke 
endlessly  of  you — she,  whose  esteem  I  risked,  and 
whose  respect  I  fear  I  lost,  for  your  sake.  But  I  have 
ceased  to  respect  myself  now,  Aurelie.  It  is  my  mis- 
fortune to  love  you  so  much  that  you  make  light  of 
me  for  being  so  infatuated." 

"Well,"  said  Aurelie  soothingly,  "you  must  try  and 
not  love  me  so  much.  I  will  help  you  as  much  as  I  can 
by  making  myself  very  disagreeable.  I  am  far  too 
indulgent  to  you,  Adrian.  * ' 

"You  hurt  me  sometimes  very  keenly,  Aurdlie, 
though  you  do  not  intend  it.  But  I  have  never  loved 
you  less  for  that.  I  fear  your  plan  would  make  me 
worse. ' ' 

"Ah,  I  see.  You  want  to  be  made  love  to,  and 
cured  in  that  way. ' ' 

"I  am  afraid  I  should  go  mad  then,  Aurelie." 

"I  will  not  try,  I  think  you  are  very  injudicious  to 
care  so  much  for  love.     To  me,  it  is  the  most  stupid 


364  Love  Among  the  Artists 

thing  in  the  world.  I  prefer  music.  No  matter,  my 
cherished  one :  I  am  very  fond  of  thee,  in  spite  of  thy 
follies.  Art  thou  not  my  husband?  Now  I  must 
make  an  end  here,  and  go  to  practise." 

"Never  mind  practising  this  morning,  Aur61ie.  Let 
us  talk. ' ' 

"Why,  have  we  not  already  talked?  No,  when  I 
miss  my  little  half  hour  of  seeking  for  my  fine  touch, 
I  play  as  all  the  world  plays;  and  that  is  not  just  to 
myself,  or  to  the  Princess,  who  pays  me  more  than  she 
pays  the  others.  One  must  be  honest,  Adrian.  There, 
your  face  is  clouded  again.     You  are  ashamed  of  me. ' ' 

"It  is  because  I  am  so  proud  of  you  that  I  shrink 
from  the  thought  of  your  talent  being  marketed.  Let 
us  change  the  subject.  Have  you  met  any  of  our 
friends  in  Paris?" 

"Not  one.  I  have  not  heard  an  English  voice  since 
we  came  here.  But  I  must  not  stop  to  gossip."  She 
took  his  hand;  pressed  it  for  an  instant  against  her 
bosom ;  and  left  the  room,  Herbert,  troubled  by  the 
effort  to  enjoy  fully  the  delight  this  caress  gave  him, 
sat  down  for  a  moment,  panting.  When  he  was 
calmer,  he  took  his  hat  and  went  downstairs,  intend- 
ing to  take  a  stroll  in  the  sunshine.  He  was  arrested 
at  the  door  of  one  of  the  lower  rooms  by  the  porter's 
wife,  who  held  in  her  shaking  hand  some  money  and 
a  scrap  of  paper,  the  sight  of  ^which  seemed  to  frenzy 
her;  for  she  was  railing  volubl)''  at  some  person 
unknown  to  Adrian.  He  looked  at  her  with  some 
curiosity,  and  was  about  to  pass  on,  when  she  stepped 
before  him, 

"Look  you,  monsieur,"  she  said.  "Be so  good  as  to 
tell  madame  that  my  house  is  not  a  hospital  for  sots. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  365 

And  tell  your  friend,  he  whose  nose  someone  has 
righteously  crushed,  that  he  had  better  take  good  care 
not  to  come  to  see  me  again.  I  will  make  him  a  bad 
quarter  of  an  hour  if  he  does." 

''My  friend,  madame!"  said  Herbert,  alarmed  by 
her  shrewishness. 

"Your  wife's  friend,  then,  whom  she  brings  home 
drunk  in  her  carriage  at  midnight,  and  who  kicks  my 
sofa  to  pieces,  and  makes  shameless  advances  to  me 
beneath  my  husband's  roof,  and  flies  like  a  thief  in  the 
night,  leaving  for  me  this  insult."  And  she  held  out 
the  scrap  of  paper  to  Adrian.  "With  ten  francs. 
What  is  ten  francs  to  me!"  Adrian,  bewildered, 
looked  unintelligently  at  the  message.  "Come  you, 
monsieur,  and  see  for  yourself  that  I  speak  truly," 
she  continued,  bringing  him  by  a  gesture  into  the 
room.  "See  there,  my  sofa  ripped  up  and  soiled  with 
his  heels.  See  madame 's  fine  rug  trampled  on  the 
floor.  See  the  pillow  which  she  put  under  his  wicked 
head  with  her  own  hands " 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  said  Adrian  sternly. 
"For  whom  do  you  take  me?" 

"Are  you  not  Monsieur  Herbert?" 

"Yes." 

"Yes,  I  should  think  so.  Well,  Monsieur  Herbert, 
it  is  your  dear  friend,  who  carries  your  portrait  next 
^ his  heart,  who  has  treated  me  thus." 

"Really,"  said  Adrian,  "I  do  not  understand  you. 
You  speak  of  me — of  my  wife — of  some  friend  of  mine 
with  my  portrait ' ' 

"And  the  nose  of  him  crushed." 

" all  in  a  breath.     What  do  you  mean?     As  you 

know,  I  only  arrived  here  this  morning." 


366  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Truly,  monsieur,  you  have  arrived  a  day  after  the 
fair.  All  I  tell  you  is  that  madame  came  home  last 
night  with  a  drunken  robber,  a  young  English  sprig, 
who  slept  here.  He  has  run  away;  and  heaven  knows 
what  he  has  taken  with  him.  He  leaves  me  this 
money,  and  this  note  to  mock  me  because  I  scorned 
his  vile  seductions.     Behold  the  table  where  he  left  it. ' ' 

Adrian,  hardly  venturing  to  understand  the  woman, 
looked  upon  the  table,  and  saw  a  note  which  had 
escaped  her  attention.  She,  following  his  glance, 
exclaimed : 

"What!     Another." 

"It  is  addressed  to  my  wife,"  said  Adrian,  taking  it, 
and  losing  color  as  he  did  so.  "Doubtless  it  contains 
an  explanation  of  his  conduct.  I  recognize  the  hand- 
writing as  that  of  a  young  friend  of  mine.  Did  you 
hear  his  name?" 

"It  was  an  English  name.  English  names  are  all 
alike  to  me. ' ' 

"Did  he  call  himself  Sutherland?" 

"Yes,  it  was  like  that,  quite  English." 

"It  is  all  right  then.  He  is  but  a  foolish  boy,  the 
brother  of  an  old  friend  of  mine." 

"Truly  a  strong  boy  for  his  years.  He  is  your  old 
friend,  of  course.  It  is  always  so.  Ah,  monsieur,  if  I 
were  one  to  talk  and  make  mischief,  I  could " 

"Thank  you,"  said  Adrian,  interrupting  her  firmly. 
"I  can  hear  the  rest  from  Madame  Herbert,  if  there 
is  anything  else  to  hear."  And  he  left  the  room. 
On  the  landing  without,  he  saw  Madame  Szczympliga, 
who,  overlooking  him,  addressed  herself  angrily  to  the 
old  woman. 

"Why  is  this  noise  made?"  she  demanded.     "How 


Love  Among  the  Artists  367 

is  it  possible  for  Mademoiselle  to  practise  with  this 
hurly  burly  in  her  ears?" 

"And  why  should  I  not  make  a  noise,"  retorted  the 
woman,  "when  I  am  insulted  in  my  own  house  by  the 
friends  of  Mademoi " 

"What  is  the  matter?"  cried  a  voice  from  above. 
The  woman  became  silent  as  if  struck  dumb ;  and  for 
a  moment  there  was  no  sound  except  the  light  descend- 
ing footfall  of  Aurelie.  "What  is  the  matter?"  she 
repeated,  as  she  came  into  their  view. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  muttered  the  old  woman  sulkily, 
glancing  apprehensively  at  Adrian. 

"You  make  a  very  great  noise  about  nothing  at  all," 
said  Aurelie  coolly,  pausing  with  her  hand  on  the 
balustrade.  "Have  you  quite  done;  and  may  I  now 
practise  in  peace?" 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you,"  said  the  woman 
apologetically,  but  still  grumbling.  "I  was  speaking 
to  Monsieur." 

"Monsieur  must  either  go  out,  or  come  upstairs  and 
read  the  journals  quietly,"  said  Aurelie. 

"I  will  come  upstairs,"  said  Adrian,  in  a  tone  that 
made  her  look  at  him  with  momentary  curiosity.  The 
old  woman  meanwhile  retreated  into  her  apartment; 
and  Madame  Szczympliga,  who  had  listened  submis- 
sively to  her  daughter,  disappeared  also.  Aurelie,  on 
returning  to  the  room  in  which  she  practised,  found 
herself  once  more  alone  with  Adrian. 

"Oh,  it  is  a  troublesome  woman,"  she  said.  "All 
proprietresses  are  so.  I  should  like  to  live  in  a  palace 
with  silent  black  slaves  to  come  and  go  when  I  clap  my 
hands.  She  has  spoiled  my  practice.  And  you  seem 
quite  put  out." 


368  Love  Among  the  Artists 

*'I Aur^lie:  I  met  Mrs.  Hoskyn's  brother  at  the 

railway  station  this  morning." 

"Really!     I  thought  he  was  in  India." 

"I  mean  her  younger  brother." 

"Ah,  I  did  not  know  that  she  had  another." 

Herbert  looked  aghast  at  her.  She  had  spoken  care- 
lessly, and  was  brushing  some  specks  of  dust  from  the 
keyboard  of  the  pianoforte,  as  to  the  cleanliness  of 
which  she  was  always  fastidious. 

"He  did  not  tell  me  that  he  had  seen  you,  Aur^lie, " 
he  said,  controlling  himself.  "Under  the  circum- 
stances I  thought  that  rather  strange.  He  even  affected 
some  surprise  when  I  mentioned  that  you  were  in 
Paris." 

She  forgot  the  keyboard,  and  looked  at  him  with 
wonder  and  some  amusement.  "You  thought  it  very 
strange!"  she  said.  "What  are  you  dreaming  of? 
What  else  should  he  say,  since  he  never  saw  me,  nor 
I  him,  in  our  lives — except  at  a  concert?  Have  I  not 
said  that  I  did  not  even  know  of  his  existence  until  you 
told  me?" 

"Aurelie!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  strange  voice,  turning 
pallid.  She  also  changed  color;  came  to  him  quickly; 
and  caught  his  arm,  saying,  "Heaven!  What  is  the 
matter  with  thee?" 

"Aurelie!"  he  said,  recovering  his  self-control,  and 
disengaging  himself  quietly  from  her  hold;  "pray  be 
serious.  Why  should  you,  even  in  jest,  deceive  me 
about  Sutherland?  If  he  has  done  anything  wrong, 
I  will  not  blame  you  for  it. " 

She  retreated  a  step,  and  slowly  raised  her  head  and 
poised  herself  in  a  haughtier  attitude.  "You  speak  of 
deceit!"  she  said.     Then,  shaking  her  finger  at  him, 


Love  Among  the  Artists  369 

she  added  indignantly,  "Ah,  take  care,  Adrian,  take 
care." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  said  sternly,  "that 
you  have  not  made  the  acquaintance  of  Sutherland 
here?" 

"I  do  tell  you  so.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  you  do 
not  believe  me." 

"And  that  he  has  not  passed  the  night  here." 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  and  shrank  a  little. 

"Aurelie, "  he  said,  with  a  menacing  expression 
which  so  disfigured  and  debased  his  face  that  she 
involuntarily  recoiled  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hands :  "I  have  never  before  opened  a  letter  addressed 
to  you;  but  I  will  do  so  now.  There  are  occasions 
when  confidence  is  mere  infatuation ;  and  it  is  time,  I 
fear,  to  shew  you  that  my  infatuation  is  not  so  blind 
as  you  suppose.  This  note  was  left  for  you  this  morn- 
ing, under  circumstances  which  have  been  explained 
to  me  by  the  woman  downstairs."  A  silence  followed 
whilst  he  opened  the  note  and  read  it.  Then,  looking 
up,  and  finding  her  looking  at  him  quite  calmly,  he 
said  sadly,  "There  is  nothing  in  it  that  you  need 
be  ashamed  of,  Aurelie.  You  might  have  told  me  the 
truth.  It  is  in  the  handwriting  of  Charlie  Suther- 
land." 

This  startled  her  for  a  moment.  "Ah,"  she  said, 
"the  scamp  gave  me  a  false  name.  But  as  for  thee, 
unhappy  one, ' '  she  added,  as  a  ray  of  hope  appeared 
in  Herbert's  eyes,  "adieu  for  ever."  And  she  was 
gone  before  he  recovered  himself. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  follow  her  and  apologize, 
so  simply  and  completely  did  her  exclamation  that 
Sutherland  had  given  her  a  false  name  seem  to  explain 


370  Love  Among  the  Artists 

her  denial  of  having  met  him.  Then  he  asked  himself 
how  came  she  to  bring  home  a  young  man  in  her 
carriage;  and  why  had  she  made  a  secret  of  it?  She 
had  said,  he  now  remembered,  that  she  had  not  heard 
any  English  voice  except  his  own  since  she  had  cdme 
to  Paris.  Herbert  was  constitutionally  apt  to  feel  at  a 
disadvantage  with  other  men,  and  to  give  credit  to 
the  least  suggestion  that  they  were  preferred  to  him- 
self. He  did  not  even  now  accuse  his  wife  of 
infidelity ;  but  he  had  long  felt  that  she  misunderstood 
him ;  withheld  her  confidence  from  him ;  and  kept  him 
apart  from  those  friends  of  hers  in  whose  society  she 
felt  happy  and  unrestrained.  In  the  thought  of  this 
there  was  for  him  more  jealousy  and  mortification 
than  a  coarser  man  might  have  suffered  from  a  wicked 
woman. 

Whilst  he  was  thinking  over  it  all,  the  door 
opened;  and  Madame  Szczympliga,  in  tears,  entered 
hastily. 

"My  God,  Monsieur  Adrian,  what  is  the  matter 
betwixt  you  and  Aurelie?" 

"Nothing  at  all,"  said  Herbert,  with  constrained 
politeness.     "Nothing  of  any  consequence." 

"Do  not  tell  me  that,"  she  protested,  pathetically. 
"I  know  her  too  well  to  believe  it.  She  is  going  away; 
and  she  will  not  tell  me  why.  And  now  you  will  not 
tell  me  either.     I  am  made  nothing  of. ' ' 

"Did  you  say  she  is  going  away?" 

"Yes.  What  have  you  done  to  her? — my  poor 
child!" 

Herbert  did  not  feel  bound  to  account  for  his  con- 
duct to  his  mother-in-law:  yet  he  felt  that  she  was 
entitled  to  some  answer.     "Madame  Szczympliga, "  he 


Love  Among  the  Artists  371 

said,  after  a  moment's  reflexion:  "can  you  tell  me 
under  what  circumstances  Aur^lie  met  the  young 
gentleman  who  was  here  last  night?" 

•'That  is  it,  is  it?  I  knew  it:  I  told  Aurelie  that  she 
was  acting  foolishly.  But  there  was  nothing  in  that 
to  quarrel  about. ' ' 

*'I  do  not  say  there  was.     How  did  it  happen?" 

"Nothing  in  the  world  but  this.  I  had  neuralgia; 
and  Aurelie  would  not  suffer  me  to  accompany  her  to 
the  concert.  As  she  was  returning,  her  carriage 
knocked  down  this  miserable  boy,  who  was  drunk. 
You  know  how  impetuous  she  is.  She  would  not 
leave  him  there  insensible ;  and  she  took  him  into  the 
carriage  and  brought  him  here.  She  made  the  woman 
below  harbor  him  for  the  night  in  her  sitting  room. 
That  is  all." 

"But  did  he  not  behave  himself  badly?" 

^''Mon  cher,  he  was  drunk — drunk  as  a  beast,  with 
his  nose  beaten  in." 

"It  is  strange  that  Aurdlie  never  told  me  of  such  a 
remarkable  incident." 

"Why,  you  are  not  an  hour  arrived;  and  the  poor 
child  has  been  full  of  the  joy  and  surprise  of  seeing 
you  so  unexpectedly.  It  is  necessary  to  be  reason- 
able, Monsieur  Adrian." 

"The  fact  is,  madame,  that  I  have  had  a  misunder- 
standing with  Aur61ie  in  which  neither  of  us  was  to 
blame.  I  should  not  have  doubted  her,  perhaps;  but 
I  think,  under  the  circumstances,  my  mistake  was 
excusable.  I  owe  her  an  apology,  and  will  make  it  at 
once." 

"Wait  a  little,"  said  Madame  Szczympliga  nervously, 
as  he  moved  towards  the  door.     "You  had  better  let 


372  Love  Among  the  Artists 

me  go  first:  I  will  ask  her  to  receive  you.  She  is 
excessively  annoyed." 

Herbert  did  not  like  this  suggestion;  but  he  sub- 
mitted to  it,  and  sat  down  at  the  pianoforte  to  await 
Madame  Szczympliga's  return.  To  while  away  the 
time  and  to  persuade  himself  that  he  was  not  too  fear- 
ful of  the  result  of  her  mission,  he  played  softly  as 
much  of  his  favorite  Mendelssohnian  airs  as  could  be 
accompanied  by  the  three  chords  which  exhausted  his 
knowledge  of  the  art  of  harmonizing.  At  last,  after  a 
long  absence,  his  mother-in-law  returned,  evidently 
much  troubled. 

"I  am  a  most  unlucky  mother,"  she  said,  seating 
herself,  and  trying  to  keep  back  her  tears.  "She  will 
not  listen  to  me.  Oh,  Monsieur  Adrien,  what  can 
have  passed  between  you  to  enrage  her  so?  You,  who 
are  always  so  gentle! — she  will  not  let  me  mention 
your  name." 

"But  have  you  explained  to  her ?" 

"What  is  the  use  of  explaining?  She  is  not 
rational." 

"What  does  she  say?" 

"She  says  absurd  things.  Recollect  that  she  is  as 
yet  only  a  child.  She  says  you  have  betrayed  your 
real  opinion  of  her  at  last.  I  told  her  that  circum- 
stances seemed  at  the  time  to  prove  that  she  had  acted 
foolishly,  but  that  you  now  admitted  your  error. ' ' 

"And  then?" 

"Then  she  said  that  her  maid  might  have  doubted 
her,  and  afterwards  admitted  her  error  on  the  same 
ground.  Oh,  she  is  a  strange  creature,  is  Aurelie! 
What  can  one  do  with  such  a  terrible  child?  She  is 
positive  that  she  will  never  speak  to  you  again ;  and  I 


Love  Among  the  Artists  373 

fear  she  is  in  earnest.  I  can  do  no  more.  I  have 
argued — implored — wept;  but  she  is  an  ingrate,  a 
heart  of  marble. " 

Here  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door;  and  a  servant 
appeared. 

"Madame  Herbert  wishes  you  to  accompany  her  to 
the  pianoforte  place,  madame.  She  is  going  thither  to 
practise." 

Herbert  only  looked  downcast;  and  Madame 
Szczympliga  left  the  room  stifling  a  sob.  Herbert 
knew  not  what  to  do.  A  domestic  quarrel  involving 
the  interference  of  a  mother-in-law  had  always  seemed 
to  him  an  incident  common  among  vulgar  people,  but 
quite  foreign  to  his  own  course  of  life ;  and  now  that  it 
had  actually  occurred  to  him,  he  felt  humiliated.  He 
found  a  little  relief  as  the  conviction  grew  upon  him 
that  he,  and  not  Aur^lie,  was  to  blame.  There  was 
nothing  new  to  him  in  the  reflexion  that  he  had  been 
weak  and  hasty:  there  would  be  pleasure  in  making 
reparation,  in  begging  her  forgiveness,  in  believing  in 
and  loving  her  more  than  ever.  But  this  would  be  on 
condition  that  she  ultimately  forgave  him,  of  which  he 
did  not  feel  at  all  sure,  as  indeed  he  never  felt  sure  of 
her  on  any  point,  not  even  that  she  had  really  loved 
him. 

In  this  state  of  mind  he  saw  her  carriage  arrive,  and 
heard  her  descend  the  stairs  and  pass  the  door  of  the 
room  where  he  was.  Whilst  he  was  hesitating  as  to 
whether  he  should  go  out  and  speak  to  her  then,  she 
drove  away ;  and  the  opportunity,  now  that  it  was  lost, 
seemed  a  precious  one.  He  went  downstairs,  and 
asked  the  old  woman  when  she  expected  Madame 
Herbert   to  return.     Not  until  six  o'clock,   she  told 


374  Love  Among  the  Artists 

him.  He  resigned  himself  to  eight  hours'  suspense, 
and  went  to  the  Luxembourg,  where  he  enjoyed  such 
pleasure  as  he  could  obtain  by  admiring  the  works  of 
men  who  could  paint  better  than  he.  It  was  a  long 
day ;  but  it  came  to  an  end  at  last. 

"I  will  announce  you,  monsieur,"  said  the  old 
woman  hastily,  as  she  admitted  him  at  half-past  six. 

"No,"  he  said  firmly,  resolved  not  to  give  Aurelie  an 
opportunity  of  escaping  from  him.  "I  will  announce 
myself."  And  he  passed  the  portress,  who  seemed 
disposed,  but  afraid,  to  bar  his  path.  As  he  went  up, 
he  heard  the  pianoforte  played  in  a  style  which  he 
hardly  recognized.  The  touch  was  hard  and 
impatient;  and  false  notes  were  struck,  followed  by 
almost  violent  repetitions  of  the  passage  in  which 
they  occurred.  He  stood  at  the  door  a  moment, 
listening. 

"My  child,"  said  Madame  Szczympliga's  voice: 
"that  is  not  practice.  You  become  worse  every 
moment:  and  you  are  spoiling  the  instrument." 

"Let  me  alone.  It  is  a  detestable  piano:  and  I  hope 
I  may  break  it." 

Herbert's  courage  sank  at  the  angry  tone  of  his 
wife's  voice. 

"You  let  yourself  be  put  out  by  nothing  at  all.  Do 
I  not  tell  you  that  everybody  thought  you  played  like 
an  angel?" 

"I  will  not  be  told  so  again.  I  played  vilely.  I 
will  give  up  music.  I  hate  it :  and  I  never  shall  be 
able  to  play.  I  have  tried  and  failed.  It  was  a  mis- 
take for  me  ever  to  have  attempted  it." 

At  this  moment  Adrian,  hearing  the  footsteps  of  the 
old  woman,  who  was  coming  up  to  listen  at  the  key- 


Love  Among  the  Artists  375 

hole,  entered  the  room.  Madame  Szczympliga  stared 
at  him  in  consternation.  He  walked  quickly  across 
the  room,  and  sat  down  close  to  his  wife  at  the 
pianoforte. 

"Aurelie,"  he  said:  "you  must  forgive  me." 

"Never,  never,  never,"  she  cried,  turning  quickly 
round  so  as  to  confront  him.  "I  have  this  day  dis- 
graced myself:  and  it  is  your  fault." 

"My  fault,  Aurelie?" 

"Do  not  call  me  Aurelie.  Now  you  smile  because 
you  have  had  your  revenge.  Am  I  not  unhappy 
enough  without  being  forced  to  see  and  speak  to  you, 
who  have  made  me  unhappy?  Go:  disembarrass  me, 
or  I  will  myself  seek  some  other  roof.  What  madness 
possessed  me,  an  artist,  to  marry?  Did  I  not  know 
that  it  is  ever  the  end  of  an  artist's  career?" 

"You  cannot  believe, "  he  said,  much  agitated,  "that 
I  would  wilfully  cause  you  a  moment's  pain.  I 
love " 

"Ah,  yes,  you  love  me.  It  is  because  you  love  me 
that  you  insult  me.  It  is  because  you  love  me  that 
you  are  ashamed  of  me  and  reproach  me  with  playing 
for  hire.  It  is  because  you  love  me  that  I  have  failed 
before  the  whole  world,  and  lost  the  fruit  of  long 
years  of  work.  You  will  find  my  mother's  scissors  in 
that  box.  Why  do  you  not  cut  off  my  fingers,  since 
you  have  paralysed  them?" 

Adrian,  shuddering  in  every  fibre  at  the  suggestion, 
caught  her  proffered  fingers  and  squeezed  them  in 
his  hands.  "My  darling,"  he  said:  "yon  pain  me 
acutely  by  your  reproaches.  Will  you  not  forgave 
me?" 

"You  waste  your  breath,"  she  said  obdurately,  dis- 


376  Love  Among  the  Artists 

engaging  herself  petulantly.  ' '  I  am  not  listening  to 
you."     And  she  began  to  play  again. 

"Aur^lie,"  he  said  presently. 

She  played  attentively,  and  did  not  seem  to  hear 
him. 

"Aur^lie, "  he  repeated  urgently.  No  answer.  "Do 
cease  that  horrible  thing,  my  darling,  and  listen  to 
me." 

This  stopped  her.  She  turned  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  and  exclaimed,  "Yes,  it  is  horrible.  Everything 
that  I  touch  is  horrible  now."  She  shut  the  piano  as 
she  spoke.     "I  will  never  open  it  more.      Mamma." 

"My  angel,"  replied  Madame  Szczympli9a,  starting. 

"Tell  them  to  send  for  it  to-morrow.  I  do  not 
want  even  to  see  it  when  I  come  down  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"But,"  said  Herbert,  "you  quite  misunderstand  me. 
Can  you  suppose  that  I  think  your  playing  horrible, 
or  that,  if  I  thought  it,  I  would  be  so  brutal  as  to  say 
so?" 

"You  do  think  it  horrible.  Everyone  finds  it 
horrible.     So  you  are  right. ' ' 

"It  was  only  what  you  were  playing " 

"I  was  one  of  Chopin's  studies.  You  used  to  like 
Chopin.  You  would  do  better  to  be  silent:  every 
word  you  utter  betrays  your  real  thoughts." 

Herbert  gently  re-opened  the  pianoforte.  "If  it 
were  the  singing  of  angels,  Aurelie,  it  would  be 
horrible  to  me  as  long  as  it  delayed  the  assurance  I  am 
waiting  for — of  your  forgiveness." 

"You  shall  never  have  it.  Nor  do  I  believe  that 
you  care  for  it. ' ' 

"Never  is  a   long    word.     You  have  said   it   very 


Love  Among  the  Artists  377 

often  this  evening,  Aur^lie.  You  will  never  play- 
again.  You  will  never  speak  to  me  again.  You  will 
never  forgive  me." 

"Do  not  argue  with  me.  You  fatigue  me."  She 
turned  away,  and  began  to  improvise,  looking  upward 
at  the  cornice  with  a  determined  expression  which 
gradually  faded  and  vanished.  Herbert,  discouraged 
by  her  last  retort,  did  not  venture  to  interrupt  her 
until  the  last  trace  of  displeasure  had  disappeared  from 
her  face.  Then  he  pleaded  in  a  low  voice.  "Aurelie. " 
The  frown  reappeared  instantly.  "Do  not  stop  play- 
ing. I  only  wish  to  assure  you  that  I  was  not  jealous 
this  morning. ' ' 

"O — h!"  she  ejaculated,  taking  her  hands  from  the 
keyboard,  and  letting  them  fall  supine  in  her  lap. 
Herbert,  taken  aback  by  the  prolonged  and  expressive 
interjection,  looked  at  her  in  silent  discomfiture. 
"Mamma:  thou  hearest  him!  He  says  he  was  not 
jealous.  Oh,  Adrian,  how  art  thou  fallen,  thou,  who 
wast  truth  itself !  Thou  art  learning  to  play  the  hus- 
band well. ' ' 

"I  thought  you  had  deceived  me,  dearest;  but  I  was 
not  jealous." 

"Then  you  do  not  love  me." 

"Let  me  explain.  I  thought  you  had  deceived  me 
in  your  account  of — of  that  wretched  boy  whom  we 
shall  never  allude  to  again — " 

"There,  there.  Do  not  remind  me  of  it.  You  were 
base:  you  were  beneath  yourself:  no  explanation  can 
change  that.  But  my  failure  at  the  Princess's  is  so 
much  greater  a  misfortune  that  it  has  put  all  that  out 
of  my  head." 

"Aur^lie,"  remonstrated  Herbert  involuntarily. 


378  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"What!  You  begin  to  complain  already — before  I 
have  half  relented?" 

"I  know  too  well,"  he  replied  sadly,  "that  your  art 
is  as  much  dearer  to  you  than  I,  as  you  are  dearer  to 
me  than  mine.  Well,  well,  I  plead  guilty  to  every- 
thing except  want  of  love  for  you.  Now  will  you 
forgive  me?" 

Instead  of  replying  she  began  to  play  merrily. 
Presently  she  looked  over  her  shoulder,  and  said,  ' '  You 
will  promise  never  to  commit  such  a  sin  again. '  * 

"I  swear  it." 

"And  you  are  very  sorry?" 

"Desolate,  Aurelie." 

"Be  pardoned,  then.  If  thou  art  truly  penitent,  I 
will  accompany  thee  to  the  Louvre;  and  thou  shalt 
shew  me  the  pictures." 

She  played  away  without  intermission  whilst  she 
spoke,  disregarding  the  kiss  which  he,  in  spite  of 
Madame  Szczympliga's  presence,  could  not  refrain  from 
pressing  on  her  cheek. 


CHAPTER   III 

When  the  novelty  of  Mrs.  Hoskyn's  first  baby  had 
worn  off,  she  successfully  resisted  the  temptation  to 
abandon  it  to  the  care  of  her  servants,  as  an  exacting 
little  nuisance;  but  her  incorrigible  interest  in  art,  no 
longer  totally  eclipsed  by  the  cradle,  retook  possession 
of  her  mind.  This  interest,  as  usual,  took  the  form 
of  curiosity  as  to  what  Adrian  Herbert  was  doing. 
Now  that  her  domestic  affections  were  satisfied  and 
centred  by  Hoskyn,  and  that  the  complete  absorption 
of  Herbert's  affections  by  his  wife  was  beyond  all 
suspicion,  she  felt  easier  and  more  earnest  in  her 
friendship  for  him  than  ever  before.  Marriage  had 
indeed  considerably  deepened  her  capacity  for 
friendship. 

One  morning,  Hoskyn  looked  up  from  his  paper  and 
said,  "Have  you  looked  at  the  Times.  There  is  some- 
thing in  it  about  Herbert  that  he  won't  like." 

"I  hope  not.     The  Times  always  spoke  well  of  him. ' ' 

Hoskyn,  without  a  word,  handed  her  the  sheet  he 
had  been  reading  and  took  up  another. 

"Oh  John,"  said  Mary,  putting  down  the  paper  in 
dismay;  "what  is  to  be  done?" 

"Done!     What  about?" 

"About  Adrian." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Hoskyn,  placably.  "Why 
should  we  do  anything?" 

"I  for  one,  shall  be  very  sorry  if  he  loses  his 
position,  after  all  his  early  struggling. ' ' 

379 


380  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"He  won't  lose  it.     Who  cares  about  the  Times?^* 

"But  I  am  greatly  afraid  that  the  Tivies  is  right." 

"If  you  think  so,  why,  that's  another  thing.  In 
that  case,  Herbert  had  better  work  a  little  harder." 

"Yes;  but  he  always  used  to  work  so  hard." 

"Well,  he  must  keep  at  it,  you  know." 

Mary  fell  a  musing;  and  Hoskyn  went  on  reading. 

"Adrian  should  never  have  married,"  she  said 
presently. 

"Why  not,  my  dear?" 

"Because  of  that,"  she  replied,  pointing  to  the 
paper. 

"They  don't  find  fault  with  him  for  being  a  married 
man,  though." 

They  find  fault  with  him  for  being  what  his  marriage 
has  made  him.  He  neither  thinks  nor  cares  about 
anything  but  his  wife. " 

"That  needn't  prevent  his  working,"  said  Hoskyn. 
"/  contrive  to  do  a  goodish  deal  of  work,"  he  added 
with  an  amorous  glance,  "without  caring  any  the  less 
for  77iy  wife." 

"Your  wife  does  not  run  away  from  you  to  the  other 
end  of  Europe  at  a  moment's  notice,  John.  She  does 
not  laugh  at  your  business,  and  treat  you  as  if  you 
were  a  little  boy  who  sometimes  gets  troublesome." 

"Still,"  said  Hoskyn  reflectively,  "she  has  a  sort  of 
fascination  about  her." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mary,  supposing  that  her  husband 
had  been  paying  her  a  compliment,  whereas  he  had 
really  referred  to  Aurelie.  "I  feel  very  much  in 
earnest  about  this.  It  is  quite  pitiable  to  see  a  man 
like  Adrian  become  the  slave  of  a  woman  who  obviously 
does  not  care  for  him — or  perhaps  I  should  not  say 


Love  Among  the  Artists  381 

that ;  but  she  certainly  does  not  care  for  him  as  he 
deserves  to  be  caied  for.  I  am  beginning"  to  think 
that  she  cares  for  nothing  but  money. ' ' 

"Oh,  come!"  remonstrated  Hoskyn.  "You're  too 
hard  on  her,  Mary.  She  certainly  doesn't  seem  to 
concern  herself  much  about  Herbert:  but  then  I  fancy 
that  he  is  rather  a  milk-and-water  sort  of  man.  I 
know  he  is  a  very  good  fellow,  and  all  that;  but  there 
is  a  something  wanting  in  him — not  exactly  stamina, 
but — but  something  or  other. " 

"There  is  a  great  want  of  worldliness  and  indifference 
in  him ;  and  I  hope  there  always  will  be,  although  a 
little  of  both  would  help  him  to  bring  his  wife  to  her 
senses.     Still,  Adrian  is  weak." 

"I  should  think  so.  For  my  part,"  said  Hoskyn, 
scratching  his  beard,  and  glancing  at  his  wife  as  if  he 
were  going  to  make  a  venturesome  remark,  "I  wonder 
how  any  woman  could  be  bothered  with  him !  I  may 
be  prejudiced;  but  that's  my  opinion." 

"Oh,  that  is  absurd,"  said  Mary.  "She  may  con- 
sider herself  very  fortunate  in  getting  so  good  a  man. 
He  is  too  good  for  her :  that  is  where  the  real  difficulty 
lies.  He  is  neglecting  himself  on  her  account.  Do 
you  think  I  ought  to  speak  to  him  seriously  about 
it?" 

"Humph!"  muttered  Hoskyn  cautiously.  "It's 
generally  rather  unwise  to  mix  oneself  up  with  other 
people's  affairs,  particularly  family  affairs.  You 
don't  as  a  rule  get  thanked  for  it." 

"I  know  that.  But  is  it  right  to  hold  aloof  when  one 
might  do  some  good  by  disregarding  consideration  of 
that  sort?  It  is  always  safest  to  do  nothing.  But  I 
doubt  if  it  is  generous." 


382  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Well,  you  can  do  as  you  like.  If  I  were  in  your 
place,  I  wouldn't  meddle. " 

"You  are  running  away  with  an  idea  that  I  am 
going  to  make  mischief,  and  talk  to  Adrian  about  his 
wife.  I  only  want  to  give  him  a  little  lecture,  such  as 
I  have  given  him  twenty  times  before.  I  am  in  some 
sort  his  fellow  student.  Don't  you  think  I  might 
venture?  I  cannot  see  how  I  can  do  any  harm  by 
speaking  to  him  about  what  the  Times  says." 

Hoskyn  pursed  his  lips,  and  shook  his  head,  Mary, 
who  had  made  up  her  mind  to  exhort  Adrian,  and 
wanted  to  be  advised  to  do  so,  added,  with  some 
vexation,  "Of  course  I  will  not  go  if  you  do  not  wish 
me  to." 

"I !  Oh  Lord  no,  my  dear :  I  don't  want  to  interfere 
with  you.     Go  by  all  means  if  you  like." 

"Very  well,  John.  I  think  I  had  better."  As  she 
said  this  as  if  she  were  about  to  go  in  deference  to  his 
wishes,  he  for  a  moment  seemed  inclined  to  remon- 
strate ;  but  he  thought  better  of  it,  and  buried  himself 
in  the  newspaper  until  it  was  time  for  him  to  go  to  the 
city. 

After  luncheon  that  day,  Mary  put  on  her  broad  hat 
and  cloak — her  matronhood  had  not  yet  reconciled  her 
to  bonnets — and  walked  to  South  Kensington,  where 
Herbert  still  kept  his  studio.  The  Avenue,  Fulham 
Road,  resembles  a  lane  leading  to  the  gates  of  the 
back  gardens  of  the  neighboring  houses  rather  than 
an  artist's  courtyard.  Except  when  some  plaster 
colossus,  crowded  out  of  a  sculptor's  studio,  appears 
incongruously  at  the  extremity  of  the  short  perspec- 
tive, no  person  would  dream  of  turning  down  there  in 
quest  of  statues  or  pictures.     Disregarding  a  gigantic 


Love  Among  the  Artists  383 

clay  horse  which  ramped  in  the  sun,  its  nostrils  carved 
into  a  snort  of  a  type  made  familiar  to  Mary  by  the 
Elgin  marbles  and  the  knights  in  her  set  of  chessmen, 
she  entered  at  a  door  on  the  right  which  led  to  a  long 
corridor,  on  each  side  of  which  were  the  studios.  In 
one  of  these  she  found  Adrian,  with  his  palette  set  and 
his  canvas  uncovered  on  the  easel,  but  with  the 
Times  occupying  all  his  attention  as  he  sat  uncom- 
fortably on  the  rung  of  a  broken  chair. 

"Mrs.  Hoskyn!"  he  exclaimed,  rising  hastily. 

"Yes,  Adrian.  Mrs.  Hoskyn's  compliments;  and 
she  is  surprised  to  see  Mr.  Herbert  reading  the  news- 
papers which  he  once  despised,  and  neglecting  the  art 
in  which  he  once  gloried." 

"I  have  taken  to  doing  both  since  I  established  my- 
self as  a  family  man,"  he  replied  with  a  sigh.  "Will 
you  ascend  the  ^throne?  It  is  the  only  seat  in  the 
place  that  can  be  depended  upon  not  to  break  down. ' ' 

"Thank  you.  Have  you  been  reading  the  Times 
ever  since  your  breakfast?" 

"Have  j/^z^  seen  it,  Mary?" 

"Yes." 

Herbert  laughed,  and  then  glanced  anxiously  at  her. 

"It  is  all  very  well  to  laugh,"  she  said,  " — and,  as 
you  know,  nobody  despises  newspaper  criticism  more 
thoroughly  than  I,  when  it  is  prejudiced  or  flippant." 

"In  this  instance,  perhaps  you  agree  with  the 
Times. ' ' 

Mary  immediately  put  on  her  glasses,  and  looked 
hardily  at  him,  by  which  he  knew  that  she  was  going 
to  say  "I  do."  When  she  had  said  it,  he  smiled 
patiently. 

"Adrian,"  she  said,  with  some  remorse:  "do  you 


384  Love  Among  the  Artists 

feel  it  to  be  true  yourself?  If  you  do  not,  then  I  shall 
admit  that  I  am  in  error." 

"There  may  be  some  truth  in  it — I  am  hardly  an 
impartial  judge  in  the  matter.  It  is  not  easy  to 
explain  my  feeling  concerning  it.  To  begin  with,  I 
am  afraid  that  when  I  used  to  preach  to  you  about 
the  necessity  of  devoting  oneself  wholly  and  earnestly 
to  the  study  of  art  in  order  to  attain  true  excellence, 
I  was  talking  nonsense — or  at  least  exaggerating  mere 
practice,  which  is  a  condition  of  success  in  tinkering 
and  tailoring  as  much  as  in  painting,  into  a  great 
central  principle  peculiar  to  art.  I  have  discovered 
since  that  life  is  larger  than  any  special  craft.  The 
difficulty  once  seemed  to  lie  in  expanding  myself  to 
the  imiversal  comprehensiveness  of  art:  now  I  per- 
ceive that  it  lies  in  contracting  myself  within  the 
limits  of  my  profession ;  and  I  am  not  sure  that  that  is 
quite  desirable." 

"Well,  of  course  if  you  have  lost  your  conviction 
that  it  is  worth  while  to  be  an  artist,  I  do  not  know 
what  to  say  to  you.  You  once  thought  it  worth  any 
sacrifice." 

"Yes,  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  had  nothing  to  sacrifice. 
But  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  not  worth  while  to  be  an 
artist;  for,  you  see,  I  have  not  given  up  my 
profession." 

"But  you  have  brought  the  Times  down  on  you," 

"True.  The  Times  now  sees  defects  in  my  work 
which  I  cannot  see,  just  as  it  formerly  failed  to  see 
defects  in  my  early  work  which  are  very  plain  to  me 
now.  It  says  very  truly  that  I  no  longer  take  infinite 
pains.  I  do  my  best  still ;  but  I  confess  that  I  work  less 
at  my  pictures  than  I  used  to,  because  then  I  strove  to 


Love  Among  the  Artists  385 

make  up  for  my  shortcomings  by  being  laborious,  where- 
as I  now  perceive  that  mere  laboriousness  does  not  and 
cannot  amend  any  shortcoming  in  art  except  the  want 
of  itself,  which  is  not  always  a  shortcoming — sometimes 
quite  the  reverse.  Laboriousness  is,  at  best,  only  an 
appeal  ad  miseracordiam  to  oneself  and  the  critics. 
*Sir  Lancelot'  is  a  bad  picture,  if  you  like;  but  do 
you  suppose  that  any  expenditure  of  patience  would 
have  tortured  it  into  a  good  one?     My  dear  Mary — I 

beg  Mr.  Hoskyn's  pardon " 

"Beg  Mrs.  Herbert's,  rather.  Go  on." 
"Mrs.  Herbert  is  a  very  good  example  of  my  next 
heresy,  which  is,  that  earnestness  of  intention,  and 
faith  in  the  higher  mission  of  art,  are  impotent  to  add 
an  inch  to  my  artistic  capacity.  They  rather  produce 
a  mental  stress  fatal  to  all  freedom  of  conception  and 
execution.  I  cannot  bring  them  to  bear  on  drawing 
and  painting:  they  seem  to  me  to  be  more  the  con- 
cern of  clergymen  and  statesmen.  Your  husband  once 
told  my  mother  that  art  was  a  backwater  into  which 
the  soft  chaps  got  to  be  out  of  the  crush  in  the 
middle  of  the  stream.  He  was  thinking  about  me,  I 
suppose — oh,  don't  apologize,  Mary:  I  quite  agree 
with  him.  It  is  a  backwater;  and  faith  and  earnest- 
ness are  of  no  use  in  it:  mere  brute  skill  carries  every- 
thing before  it.  You  once  asked  me  how  I  should  like 
to  be  Titian  and  a  lot  of  other  great  painters  all  rolled 
into  one.  At  present  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to  be 
as  good  as  Titian  alone;  but  I  would  not  pay  five 
years  of  my  life  for  the  privilege:  it  would  not  be 
worth  it.  What  view  did  Titian  take  of  his  mission 
in  life?  Simply  that  he  was  to  paint  pictures  and  sell 
them.     He  painted  religious  pictures  when  the  church 


386  Love  Among  the  Artists 

paid  him  to  do  it ;  he  painted  indecent  pictures  when 
licentious  noblemen  paid  him  to  do  it ;  and  he  painted 
portraits  for  the  wealthy  public  generally.  Believe 
me,  Mary,  out  in  the  middle  of  the  stream  of  life, 
from  the  turbulences  and  vulgarities  of  which  we 
agreed  to  hold  aloof,  there  may  be  many  different  sorts 
of  men — earnest  men,  frivolous  men,  faithful  men,  cyni- 
cal men,  poetic  men,  sordid  men,  and  so  forth ;  but  for 
the  backwater  there  are  only  two  sorts  of  painters, 
dexterous  ones  and  maladroit  ones.  I  am  not  a 
dexterous  one ;  and  that  is  all  about  it :  self-criticism 
on  moral  principles,  and  the  culture  of  the  backwater 
library  won't  mend  my  eyes  and  fingers.  I  said  that 
Aurelie's  was  a  case  in  point.  Even  the  Times  does 
not  deny  that  she  is  a  perfect  artist.  Yet  if  you  spoke 
of  her  being  a  moral  teacher  with  a  great  gift  and  a 
great  trust,  she  would  not  understand  you,  although 
she  has  some  distorted  fancy  about  her  touch  on  the 
piano  being  a  moral  faculty.  She  thinks  your  husband 
a  most  original  and  profound  thinker  because  he  once 
happened  to  remark  to  her  that  musical  people  were 
generally  clever.  As  I  failed  to  be  duly  overwhelmed 
by  her  account  of  this,  she,  I  believe,  thought  I  was 
jealous  of  him  because  I  had  not  hit  on  the  observation 
myself. ' ' 

"Perhaps  she  would  play  still  better  if  she  did 
look  upon  herself  as  the  holder  of  a  great  gift  and  a 
great  trust. ' ' 

"Did  I  paint  the  Lady  of  Shalott  the  better  because 
I  would  have  mixed  the  colors  with  my  blood  if  the 
picture  would  have  gained  by  my  doing  so?  No:  I 
could  paint  it  twice  as  well  now,  though  I  should  not 
waste  half  as  much  thought  on  it.     But  put  Aurelie 


Love  Among  the  Artists  387 

out  of  the  question,   since  you    do  not  admire  her. 

Take " 

"Oh.  Adrian,  I  ad " 


" — the  case  of  Jack.  You  will  admit  that  he  is  a 
genius :  he  has  the  inexhaustible  flow  of  ugly  sounds 
which  constitutes  a  composer  a  genius  nowadays.  I 
take  Aurelie's  word  and  yours  that  he  is  a  great 
musician,  in  spite  of  the  evidence  of  my  own  ears. 
Judging  him  as  a  mere  unit  of  society,  he  is  perhaps 
the  most  uncouth  savage  in  London.  Does  he  ever 
think  of  himself  as  having  a  mission,  or  a  gift,  or  a 
trust?" 

"I  am  sure  he  does.  Consider  how  much  he  endured 
formerly  because  he  would  not  write  down  to  the 
level  of  the  popular  taste." 

"Depend  upon  it,  either  he  did  not  get  the  chance 
or  he  could  not.  Mozart,  I  believe,  wrote  ballets  and 
Masses  in  the  Italian  style.  If  Jack  had  Mozart's 
versatility,  he  would,  in  similar  circumstances,  act  just 
as  Mozart  acted.  I  do  not  make  a  virtue  of  never 
having  condescended  to  draw  for  the  illustrated  papers, 
because  if  anyone  had  asked  me  to  do  it,  I  should 
certainly  have  tried,  and  probably  have  failed." 

"Adrian,"  said  Mary,  coming  down  from  the  throne, 
and  approaching  him:  "do  you  know  that  it  gives 
me  great  pain  to  hear  you  talk  in  this  way?  If  there 
was  one  vice  more  than  another  which  I  felt  sure 
could  never  taint  your  nature,  it  was  the  vice  of 
cynicism." 

"  You  reproach  me  with  cynicism!"  he  said,  with  a 
smile,  evidently  enjoying  some  inconsistency  in  her. 

"Why  not?" 

"  There  is,  of  course,  no  reason  why  you  should  not 


388  Love  Among  the  Artists 

— except  that  you  seem  to  have  come  to  very  similar 
conclusions  yourself. ' ' 

"You  never  made  a  greater  mistake,  Adrian,  My 
faith  in  the  ennobling  power  of  Art,  and  in  the  august 
mission  of  the  artist  is  as  steadfast  as  it  was  years  ago, 
when  you  first  instilled  it  into  me." 

"And  that  faith  has  never  wavered?" 

*' Never." 

"Not  even  for  a  moment?" 

"Not  even  for  a  moment." 

A  slight  shrug  was  his  only  comment.  He  took  up 
his  palette,  and  busied  himself  with  it,  with  a  curious 
expression  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Adrian?" 

"Nothing.     Nothing." 

"You  used  to  be  more  candid  than  that." 

"I  used  to  be  many  things  that  I  am  not  now." 

"You  admit  that  you  are  changed?" 

"Surely." 

"Then  the  change  in  me  that  you  hint  at  is  only  a 
change  in  your  way  of  looking  at  me." 

"Perhaps  so." 

A  pause  followed,  during  which  he  put  a  few  touches 
on  the  canvas,  and  she  watched  him  in  growing 
doubt. 

"You  won't  mind  my  working  whilst  you  are  here?" 
he  said,  presently. 

"Adrian:  do  you  remember  that  day  on  the  under- 
cliff  at  Bonchurch,  when  I  announced  my  falling  off, 
in  principle,  from  the  austerity  of  our  worship  of  art?" 

"I  do.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"I  .little  thought,  then,  which  of  us  would  be  the 
first  to  fall  off  in  practice.     If  a  prophet  had  shewn 


Love  Among  the  Artists  389 

you  to  me  as  you  are  now,  contemning  loftiness  of 
purpose  and  renouncing  arduous  work,  I  should  have 
been  at  a  loss  for  words  strong  enough  to  express  my 
repudiation  of  the  forecast." 

"I  cannot  say  that  /did  not  suspect  then  who  would 
be  the  first  to  fall  off,"  said  Adrian,  quietly,  though 
his  color  deepened  a  little.  "But  I  should  have  been 
as  sceptical  as  you,  if  your  prophet  had  shewn  me 
you "      He  checked  himself. 

"Well,  Adrian?" 

"No.  I  beg  your  pardon:  I  was  going  to  say  some- 
thing I  have  no  right  to  say." 

'Whatever  it  may  be,  you  think  it;  and  I  have  a 
right  to  hear  it,  so  that  I  may  justify  myself.  How 
could  a  prophet  have  shewn  me  so  as  to  astonish  you?" 

"As  Mrs.  Hoskyn,"  he  replied,  looking  at  her 
steadily  for  a  moment,  and  then  resuming  his  work. 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Mary  anxiously,  after  a 
pause. 

"I  told  you  there  was  nothing  to  understand,"  said 
he,  relieved.  "I  meant  that  it  is  odd  in  the  first  place 
that  we  are  both  married,  and  not  to  one  another — I 
suppose  you  don't  mind  my  alluding  to  that.  It  is  still 
odder  that  I  should  be  married  to  Aur^lie,  who  knows 
nothing  about  painting.  But  it  is  oddest  that  you 
should  be  married  to  Mr.  Hoskyn,  who  knows  nothing 
about  art  at  all. " 

Mary,  understanding  him  well  now,  became  very 
red,  and  for  a  moment  tried  hard  to  keep  back  a  retort 
which  came  to  her  lips.  He  continued  to  paint 
attentively.  Then  she  said  indignantly,  "Do  you 
conclude  that  I  do  not  care  for  my  husband  because  I 
can  still  work  and  think  and  respect  myself — because 


390  Love  Among  the  Artists 

I  am  not  his  slave  when  he  is  present,  and  a  slave  to 
my  thoughts  of  him  when  he  is  absent?" 

"Mary!"  exclaimed  Herbert,  putting  down  his 
palette  and  confronting  her  with  a  color  as  deep  as 
her  own.  She  stood  her  ground  without  flinching. 
Then  he  recovered  himself,  and  said,  "I  beg  your 
pardon.  I  was  quite  wrong  to  say  anything  about 
your  marriage.     Have  I  annoyed  you?" 

"You  have  let  slip  your  opinion  of  me,  Adrian." 

"And  you  yours  of  me,  I  think,  Mary." 

After  this  there  was  another  strained  pause,  dis- 
concerting to  both.  This  time  Mary  gained  her  self- 
possession  first.  "I  was  annoyed  just  now,"  she  said: 
"but  I  did  not  mean  that  we  should  quarrel.  I  hope 
you  did  not." 

"No,  indeed,"  he  said  fervently.  "I  trust  we  shall 
never  have  any  such  meaning,  whatever  may  pass 
between  us." 

"Then,"  she  rejoined,  instinctively  responding  to 
his  emotion  with  an  impulse  of  confession,  "let  me 
tell  you  candidly  how  far  you  were  right  in  what  you 
said.  I  married  because  I  discovered,  as  you  have, 
that  the  world  is  larger  than  Art,  and  that  there  is 
plenty  of  interest  in  it  for  those  who  do  not  even 
know  what  Art  means.  But  I  have  never  been  in 
love  in  the  story-book  fashion :  and  I  had  given  up  all 
belief  in  the  reality  of  that  fashion  when  I  cast  in  my 
lot  with  John's,  though  I  am  very  fond  of  him,  and  do 
not  at  all  regret  being  Mrs.  Hoskyn." 

"It  is  curious  that  our  courses  of  action  should  be 
so  similar  and  our  motives  so  different!  My  con- 
fession is  so  obvious  that  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
make  it.     I  did  fall  in  love  in  the  story-book  fashion; 


Love  Among  the  Artists  391 

and  that  is  the  true  explanation  of  what  the  Times 
notices  in  my  work.  I  will  not  say  that  I  can  no  longer 
work,  think,  or  respect  myself — I  hope  I  am  not  so  bad 
as  that :  but  the  rest  is  true.  I  am  a  slave  to  her  when 
she  is  present,  and  a  slave  to  my  thoughts  of  her 
when  she  is  absent.     Perhaps  you  despise  me  for  it." 

"I  can  hardly  despise  you  for  loving  your  wife.  It 
would  be  rather  unreasonable. ' ' 

"There  are  many  things  which  are  not  reasonable, 
and  are  yet  quite  natural.  I  sometimes  despise  my- 
self. That  occurs  when  I  contrast  Aurelie's  influence 
on  my  work  with  yours.  Before  I  met  her,  I  worked 
steadfastly  in  this  studio,  thinking  of  you  whenever 
my  work  palled  on  me,  and  never  failing  to  derive 
fresh  courage  from  you.  I  know  now,  better  than  I 
did  then,  how  much  of  my  first  success,  and  of  the 
resolute  labor  that  won  it,  was  due  to  you.  The  new 
influence  is  a  different — a  disturbing  one.  When  I 
think  of  Aur^lie,  there  is  an  end  of  my  work.  Where 
in  the  old  time  I  used  to  be  reinforced  and  concen- 
trated, I  am  now  excited  and  distracted;  impatient  for 
some  vague  to-morrow  that  never  comes ;  capable  of 
nothing  but  trouble  or  ecstasy.  Imagine,  then,  how 
I  value  your  friendship — for  you  must  not  think  that 
you  have  lost  your  old  power  over  me.  Even  to-day, 
because  I  have  had  this  opportunity  of  talking  with 
you,  I  feel  more  like  my  old  artist  self  than  I  have 
been  for  a  long  time.  We  understand  each  other :  I 
could  not  say  the  same  to  Aurelie.  Therefore,  Mary, 
will  you — however  ill  I  may  in  your  opinion  have 
deserved  it — will  you  still  stand  my  friend,  and  help 
me  to  regain  the  ground  I  have  lost,  as  you  formerly 
helped  me  to  win  it?" 


392  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Most  willingly, "  said  Mary  with  enthusiasm,  hold- 
ing out  both  her  hands  to  him.  "I  will  take  your  word 
for  my  ability  to  help  you,  though  I  know  that  you 
used  to  help  yourself  by  helping  me.  Now  we  are  fast 
friends  again,  are  we  not?" 

"Fast  friends,"  he  repeated,  taking  her  hands,  and 
returning  her  gaze  with  affectionate  admiration  and 
gratitude, 

"Aha!"  cried  a  voice.  They  released  each  other's 
hands  quickly,  and  turned,  pale  and  startled,  towards 
the  new  comer.  Aurelie,  in  a  light  summer  dress, 
was  smiling  at  them  from  the  doorway. 

"I  fear  I  derange  you,"  she  said  in  English,  which 
she  now  spoke  easily  and  carelessly,  though  with  a 
soft  foreign  accent.  "How  do  you  do,  Madame 
Hoskyn?     Am  I  too  much?     Eh?" 

Mary,  confused  by  the  surprise  of  her  entry,  and  still 
more  by  the  innocent  and  caressing  manner  in  which 
she  spoke,  murmured  some  words  of  salutation. 

"This  is  a  very  unusual  honor,  Aurelie,"  said 
Herbert,  affecting  to  laugh. 

"Yes,  I  did  not  know  of  it  beforehand  myself.  I 
got  into  the  wrong  train,  and  was  carried  to  South 
Kensington  instead  of  to  Addison  Road.  So  I  said,  'I 
will  give  Adrian  a  surprise.'     And  so  I  have." 

"You  came  in  at  an  interesting  moment,"  said  Mary, 
who  had  now  partly  regained  some  of  her  self- 
nossession,  and  all  her  boldness.  "Mr.  Herbert  and  I 
have  had  a  serious  quarrel;  and  we  are  just  making  it 
up,  English  fashion. ' ' 

"Oh,  it  is  not  an  English  fashion.  People  quarrel 
like  that  everywhere.  And  you  are  now  greater 
friends  than  ever.     Is  it  not  so?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  393 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Mary. 

"I  knew  it,"  said  Aur^lie,  with  a  wave  of  her  fin- 
gers. "The  human  nature  is  the  same  things 
throughout  the  world.  Ah  yes.  What  an  untidy 
atelier  is  this !  How  can  you  expect  that  great  ladies 
will  come  here  to  sit  for  their  portraits?" 

"I  do  not  desire  that  they  should,  Aurelie. " 

"But  it  is  by  portraits  that  the  English  artists  make 
great  sums  of  money.  Why  do  you  not  cure  him  of 
these  strange  notions,  Madame?  You  have  so  much 
sense;  and  he  respects  you  so.  He  mocks  at  me 
when  I  speak  of  painting:  yet  I  am  sure  I  am  right." 

Mary  smiled  uneasily,  not  knowing  exactly  how  to 
reply.  Aurelie  wandered  about  the  studio,  picking 
up  sketches  and  putting  them  down  without  looking 
at  them;  peeping  into  corners;  and  behaving  like  a 
curious  child.  At  last  her  husband,  seeing  her  about 
to  disturb  a  piece  of  drapery,  cried  out  to  her  to  take 
care. 

"What  is  the  matter  now?"  said  she.  "Is  there 
somebody  behind  it?     del!  it  is  a  great  doll." 

"Please  do  not  touch  it, "  he  said,  "I  am  drawing 
from  it;  and  the  change  of  a  single  fold  will  waste  all 
my  labor. '  * 

"Yes;  but  that  is  not  fair.  You  should  not  copy 
things  into  your  pictures:  you  should  paint  them  all 
out  of  your  head. "  She  went  over  to  the  easel.  "Is 
this  the  great  work  for  next  year?  Why  has  that  man 
a  bonnet  on?" 

"It  is  not  a  bonnet:  it  is  a  helmet." 

"Ah!  He  is  a  fireman  then.  Tiens!  you  have 
drawn  him  with  long  curling  hair!  There — I  know 
— ^he  is  a  knight  of  the  round  table :  all  your  knights 


394  Love  Among  the  Artists 

are  the  same.  Of  what  use  are  such  barbarians?  I 
prefer  the  Nibelungs  and  Wotan  and  Thor — in 
Wagner's  music.  His  arm  is  a  great  deal  too  long: 
and  the  little  boy's  head  is  not  half  large  enough  in 
proportion  to  his  height.  The  poor  child  is  like  a  man 
in  miniature.  Madame  Hoskyn:  will  you  do  me  a 
great  favor — that  is,  if  you  are  disengaged?" 

"I  have  no  engagements  to-day,  happily,"  said 
Mary.     "You  may  command  me." 

"Then  you  will  come  back  with  us  to  our  house, 
and  stay  to  dinner.  Oh,  you  must  not  refuse  me.  We 
will  send  a  telegram  to  Mr.  Hoskyn  to  come  too.  En 
faniille^  you  understand.  Adrian  will  entertain  you; 
I  will  play  for  you ;  and  my  mother  will  shew  you  the 
bambino.  He  is  a  droll  child — you  shall  see  if  he  is 
not." 

"You  are  very  kind, "  said  Mary,  wavering.  "Mr. 
Hoskyn  expects  me  to  dine  at  home  with  him;  but — " 
She  looked  inquiringly  at  Adrian. 

"As  Aurelie  says,  we  can  ask  Mr.  Hoskyn  by 
telegraph.     I  hope  you  will  come,  Mary." 

Mary  blushed  at  his  use  of  her  Christian  name, 
accustomed  as  she  was  to  it.  "Thank  you,"  she  said. 
"I  will  come  with  pleasure." 

"Ah,  that  is  very  good,"  said  Aurelie,  apparently 
delighted.  "Come  then,"  she  added  in  French  to 
Adrian.  "Put  away  thy  sottises;  and  let  us  go  at 
once. ' ' 

"You  hear?"  he  remarked  to  Mary.  "She  calls  my 
canvas  and  hvMslies  ray  sottises.''  He  put  them  away 
resignedly,  nevertheless,  Aurelie  chatting  light- 
heartedly  with  Mary,  meanwhile.  When  he  was 
ready,  they  went  out  together  past  the  white  horse, 


Love  Among  the  Artists  395 

whose  shadow  was  tending  at  some  length  eastward, 
and  sallied  into  the  Fulham  Road,  where  they  halted 
to  consider  whether  they  should  walk  or  drive. 
Whilst  they  stood,  a  young  man  with  a  serious 
expression,  long  and  curly  fair  hair,  and  a  velveteen 
jacket,  approached  them.  He  was  reading  a  book  as 
he  walked,  taking  no  note  of  the  persons  whom  he 
passed. 

"Why,  here  is  Charlie,"  exclaimed  Mary.  The 
young  man  looked  up,  and  immediately  stopped  and 
shut  his  book,  exhibiting  a  remarkable  degree  of  con- 
fusion. Then,  to  the  surprise  of  his  sister,  he  raised 
his  hat,  and  attempted  to  pass  on. 

"Charlie,"  she  said:  "are  you  going  to  cut  us?"  At 
this  he  stopped  again,  and  stood  looking  at  them 
discomfitedly. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Adrian,  offering  his  hand, 
which  was  eagerly  accepted.  Charlie  now  ventured 
to  glance  at  Aurelie,  becoming  redder  as  he  did  so. 
She  was  waiting  with  perfect  composure  and  apparently 
without  interest  for  the  upshot  of  the  encounter. 

"I  thought  you  knew  Mrs.  Herbert,"  said  Mary, 
puzzled.  "My  brother,  Mrs.  Herbert,"  she  added, 
turning  to  Aurelie. 

Charlie  removed  his  hat  solemnly,  and  received  in 
acknowledgement  what  was  rather  a  droop  of  the 
eyelids  than  a  bow. 

Herbert,  seeing  that  an  awkward  silence  was  likely 
to  ensue,  interposed  goodhumoredly.  "What  is  your 
latest  project?"  he  said.  "If  you  are  an  engineer 
still  your  exterior  is  singularly  unprofessional.  Judg- 
ing by  appearances,  I  should  say  that  I  must  be  the 
engineer  and  you  the  artist. ' ' 


396  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Oh,  I've  given  up  engineering,"  said  Charlie. 
"It's  a  mere  trade.  The  fact  is,  I  have  come  round 
at  last  to  your  idea  that  there  is  nothing  like  Art.  I 
have  turned  my  attention  to  literature  of  late." 

"To  poetry,  I  presume,"  said  Herbert,  drawing  the 
book  from  beneath  his  arm  and  looking  at  the  title. 

"I  wish  I  had  the  least  scrap  of  genius  to  make  me 
a  poet.  In  any  case  I  must  give  up  the  vagabond  life 
I  have  been  leading,  and  settle  down  to  some  earnest 
pursuit.  I  may  not  ever  be  able  to  write  a  decent 
book ;  but  I  at  least  can  persevere  in  the  study  of  Art 
and  literature  and — and  so  forth." 

"Persevere  in  literature!"  repeated  Mary.  "Oh, 
Charlie!  How  many  novels  and  tragedies  have  you 
begun  since  we  went  to  live  at  Beulah?  and  not  one 
of  them  ever  got  to  the  second  chapter." 

"I  shewed  my  good  sense  in  not  finishing  any  of  them. 
What  has  become  of  the  pictures  you  used  to  work  so 
hard  at,  and  of  the  great  compositions  that  were  to 
have  come  of  your  studies  with  Jack?" 

"I  think,"  said  Herbert  jocularly,  "that  if  we  wait 
here  until  you  and  Mary  agree  on  the  subject  of  your 
perseverance,  our  dinner  will  be  cold.  Mrs.  Hoskyn 
is  coming  to  dine  with  us  this  evening,  Charlie.  Sup- 
pose you  join  us." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  hastily:  "I  should  like  it  of 
all  things;  but  I  am  not  dressed;  and " 

"You  can  hardly  propose  to  dress  for  dinner  on  my 
account  at  this  late  stage  of  our  acquaintance;  and 
Mrs.  Herbert  will  excuse  you,  I  think." 

"You  shall  be  the  welcome,  monsieur,"  said  Aur^lie, 
who  had  been  gazing  abstractedly  down  the  vista  at 
the  white  horse. 


Love  Among  the  Artists  397 

"Thanks,  very  much  indeed,"  said  Charlie.  This 
decided,  it  was  arranged  that  they  should  go  by  train 
to  High  Street,  and  walk  thence  to  Herbert's  lodging: 
for  he  had  never  fulfilled  his  intention  of  taking  a 
house,  his  wife  being  only  nominally  more  at  home  in 
London  than  in  the  other  European  capitals.  They 
accordingly  moved  towards  the  railway  station,  Adrian 
going  first  with  Mary,  and  Charlie  following  with 
Aur^lie,  who  seemed  unconscious  of  his  presence, 
although  his  uneasiness,  his  frequent  glances  sidelong 
at  her,  and  his  occasional  dumb  efforts  to  nazard  some 
commonplace  remark,  were  much  more  obvious  than 
he  suspected.  In  this  way  they  came  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  South  Kensington  station  without  having 
exchanged  a  word,  his  dismay  increasing  at  every 
step.  He  stole  another  look  at  her,  and  this  time  met 
her  eye,  which  fixed  him  as  if  it  had  been  that  of  the 
ancient  mariner:  and  the  longer  she  looked,  the 
redder  and  more  disconcerted  he  became. 

"Well  Monsieur  Beatty,"  she  said  composedly. 

He  glanced  apprehensively  at  Adrian,  who  was 
within  earshot.  "I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you,"  he 
said:  "but  my  name  is  not  Beatty." 

"Is  it  possible!  I  beg  your  pardon,  monsieur;  I 
mistook  you  for  a  zhentleman  of  that  name,  whom  I 
met  at  Paris.     You  resemble  him  very  much." 

"No,  I  assure  you,"  said  Charlie  eagerly.  "I  am 
not  in  the  least  like  him.  I  know  the  fellow  you 
mean :  he  was  a  drunken  wretch  whom  you  rescued  from 
being  run  over  or  robbed  in  the  street,  and  who  made 
a  most  miserable  ass  of  himself  in  return.  He  is 
dead." 

'''Jesu  Christ!''  ejaculated  Aurelie  with  an  irrepress- 


398  Love  Among  the  Artists 

ible  start:    "do  not  say  such    things.     What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Dead  as  a  doornail,"  said  Charlie,  triumphant  at 
having  shaken  her  composure,  but  still  very  earnest. 
"He  was  killed,  scotched,  stamped  out  of  existence  by 
remorse,  and  by  being  unable  to  endure  the  contrast 
between  his  worthlessness  and  your — your  goodnes'^. 
If  you  would  only  forget  him,  and  not  think  of  him 
whenever  you  see  me,  you  would  confer  a  very  great 
favor  on  me — far  greater  than  I  deserve.  Will  you  do 
so,  please,  Mrs.  Herbert?" 

' '  I  believe  you  will  make  great  success  as  a  poet, ' '  said 
Aur^lie,  loolsSng  coldly  at  him.  "You  are — what  you 
call  clever.  Ach!  This  underground  railway  is  a 
horror. ' ' 

They  said  nothing  more  to  one  another  until  they 
left  the  train  at  High  Street,  from  which  they  walked 
in  the  same  order  as  before,  Charlie  again  at  a  loss  for 
something  to  say,  but  no  longer  afraid  to  speak.  His 
first  effort  was: 

"I  hope  Madame  Szczympliga  is  quite  well." 

"Thank  you,  she  is  quite  well.  You  will  see  her 
presently." 

"What!     Is  she  staying  with  you?" 

"Yes.     You  are  glad  of  that?" 

"No,  I'm  not,"  he  said  bluntly.  "How  could  I  be 
glad?  She  remembers  that  vagabond  of  whom  we 
were  speaking.     What  shall  I  do?" 

Aurelie  shook  her  head  gravely.  "Truly,  T  do  not 
know,"  she  replied.  "You  had  better  prepare  for  the 
worst.  * ' 

"It  is  very  easy  for  you  to  make  a  jest  of  the  affair, 
Mrs.    Herbert.      If    you  had    as    much  cause    to  be 


Love  Among  the  Artists  399 

ashamed  of  meeting  her  as  I  have,  you  would  not 
laugh  at  me.  However,  since  you  have  forgiven  me, 
I  think  she  may  very  well  do  so. ' ' 

Madame  Szczympliga  did,  in  fact,  receive  him  with- 
out betraying  the  slightest  emotion.  She  did  not 
remember  him.  All  her  attention  was  absorbed  by 
other  considerations,  which  led  her  to  draw  her 
daughter  into  a  private  conversation  on  the  stairs 
whilst  their  guests  supposed  her  to  be  fetching  the 
baby. 

"My  child:  have  you  brought  home  dinner  as  well 
as  guests?  What  are  they  to  eat?  Do  you  think  that 
the  proprietress  can  provide  a  double  dinner  at  a 
moment's  notice?" 

"She  must,  maman.  It  is  very  simple.  Let  her  go 
to  the  shops — to  the  pastrycooks.  Let  her  go 
wherever  she  will,  so  that  the  dinner  be  ready.  Per- 
haps there  is  enough  in  the  house." 

"And  how " 

"There,  there.  She  will  manage  easily.  If  not, 
how  can  I  help  it?  I  know  nothing  about  such  things. 
Go  for  the  bambino;  and  do  not  fret  about  the 
dinner.  All  will  be  well,  depend  upon  it."  And  she 
retreated  quickly  into  the  drawing-room.  Madame 
Szczympliga  raised  her  hands  in  protest;  let  them  fall 
in  resignation ;  and  went  upstairs,  whence  she  presently 
returned  with  a  small  baby  who  looked  very  sad  and 
old. 

"Behold  it?"  said  Aurdlie,  interlacing  her  fingers 
behind  her  back,  and  nodding  from  a  distance  towards 
her  child.  "See  how  solemn  he  looks!  He  is  a  true 
Englishman."  The  baby  uttered  a  plaintive  sound 
and  stretched  out  one  fist.      "Aha!      Knowest  thou 


400  Love  Among  the  Artists 

thy  mother's  voice,  rogue?  Does  he  not  resemble 
Adrian?" 

Mary  took  the  infant  gently;  kissed  it;  shook  its 
toes;  called  it  endearing  names;  and  elicited  several 
inarticulate  remonstrances  from  it.  Adrian  felt 
ridiculous,  and  acknowledged  his  condition  by  a  faint 
smile.  Charlie  kept  cautiously  aloof.  Mary  was  in 
the  act  of  handing  the  child  carefully  back  to  Madame 
Szczympliga,  when  Aur^lie  interposed  swiftly;  tossed 
it  up  to  the  ceiling;  and  caught  it  dexterously. 
Adrian  stepped  forward  in  alarm ;  Madame  uttered  a 
Polish  exclamation;  and  the  baby  itself  growled 
angrily.  Being  sent  aloft  a  second  time,  it  howled  with 
all  its  might. 

"Now  you  shall  see,"  said  Aur^lie,  suddenly  placing 
it,  supine,  kicking  and  screaming,  on  the  pianoforte. 
She  then  began  to  play  the  Skaters'  Quadrille  from 
Meyerbeer's  opera  of  "The  Prophet."  The  baby 
immediately  ceased  to  kick;  became  silent;  and  lay 
still  with  the  bland  expression  of  a  dog  being 
scratched,  or  a  lady  having  her  hair  combed. 

"It  has  a  vile  taste  in  music,"  she  said,  when  the 
performance  was  over.  "It  is  old  fashioned  in  every- 
thing. Ah  yes.  Monsieur  Sutherland:  would  you 
kindly  pass  the  little  one  to  my  mother." 

Madame  Szczympliga  hastily  advanced  to  forestall 
Charlie's  compliance  with  this  request,  made  purposely 
to  embarrass  him.  But  he  lifted  the  baby  very 
expertly,  and  even  gave  it  a  kiss  before  he  handed  it 
to  the  old  lady,  who  watched  him  as  if  he  were  hand- 
ling a  valuable  piece  of  china. 

"There.  Take  it  away,"  said  Aurelie.  "You 
would  make  a  good  nurse,  monsieur." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  401 

"What  a  mother!"  whispered  Madame  Szczympliga. 
"Poor  infant!"  and  she  indignantly  carried  it  away. 

"I  wish  he  would  grow  up  all  at  once,"  said  Aur^lie. 
"By  the  time  he  is  a  man,  I  shall  be  an  old  woman, 
half  deaf,  with  gout  in  my  fingers.  He  will  go  to  hear 
the  new  players,  and  wonder  how  I  got  my  reputation. 
Ah,  it  is  a  stupid  world!  One  may  say  so  before  you, 
madame,  because  you  are  a  philosopher." 

Madame  Szczympliga  soon  returned,  and  was  of 
much  service  in  maintaining  conversation,  as  she  was 
not,  like  the  other  three,  unable  to  avoid  keeping  a 
furtive  watch  on  her  daughter.  At  dinner,  Aur^lie, 
when  she  found  that  the  talk  would  go  on  without  her 
help,  said  no  more,  eating  but  little,  and  drinking 
water.  In  her  abstraction,  she  engaged  their  attention 
more  than  ever.  Mary,  trying  to  puzzle  out  the  real 
nature  of  Adrian's  wife,  considered  her  carefully,  but 
vainly.  The  pianist's  character  appeared  as  vaguely 
to  her  mind  as  the  face  did  to  her  short-sighted  eyes. 
Even  Herbert,  though  he  ate  with  the  appetite  of  a 
husband,  often  glanced  along  the  table  with  the 
admiration  of  a  lover.  Charlie  did  not  dare  to  look 
often ;  but  he  sought  for  distorted  images  of  her  face 
in  glass  vessels  and  bowls  of  spoons,  and  gazed  at 
them  instead.  At  last  Mary,  oppressed  by  her  silence, 
determined  to  make  her  speak. 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  never  drink  wine?"  she  said: 
"you,  who  work  so  hard!" 

"Never,"  said  Aurelie,  resuming  her  volition 
instantly.  "I  have  in  the  tip  of  every  finger  a  sensa- 
tion of  touch  the  most  subtle,  the  most  delicate,  that 
you  can  conceive.  It  is  a — chose — a  species  of  nervous 
organization.     One  single  glass  of  wine  would  put  all 


402  Love  Among  the  Artists 

those  little  nerves  to  sleep.  My  fingers  would  become 
hammers,  like  the  fingers  of  all  the  world;  and  I 
should  be  excited,  and  have  a  great  pleasure  to 
hammer,  as  all  the  world  has.  But  I  could  no  longer 
make  music." 

"Aurelie  has  remarkable  theories  of  what  she  calls 
her  fine  touch,"  said  Herbert.  "Practically,  I  find 
that  when  she  is  in  a  musical  humor,  and  enjoys  her 
own  playing,  she  says  she  has  'found  her  fingers' ;  but 
when  only  other  people  enjoy  it,  then  the  touch  is  gone ; 
the  fingers  are  like  the  fingers  of  all  the  world ;  and  I 
receive  formal  notice  that  Mdlle.  Szczympliga  is  about 
to  retire  from  the  musical  profession." 

"Yes,  yes,  you  are  very  wise.  You  have  not  this 
fine  touch ;  and  you  do  not  understand.  If  you  had, 
ah,  how  you  would  draw !  You  would  be  greater  than 
no  matter  what  artist  in  the  world. ' ' 

Mary  burned  with  indignation  at  Aur^lie,  knowing 
how  it  hurt  Herbert  to  be  reminded  that  he  was  not  a 
first-rate  artist.  Aurelie,  indifferent  to  the  effect  of 
her  speech,  relapsed  into  meditation  until  they  left  the 
table,  when  she  seated  herself  at  the  pianoforte,  and 
permitted  Charlie  to  engage  her  in  conversation, 
whilst  Herbert  became  engrossed  by  a  discussion  with 
Mary  on  painting,  and  Madame  Szczympliga  sat  still 
in  a  corner,  knitting. 

"What!"  said  Aur61ie,  when  Charlie  had  been 
speaking  for  some  time:  "were  you  at  that  concert 
too?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  have  been  at  every  concert  where  I  have 
played  since  I  returned  to  London.  Do  you  go  to  all 
concerts?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  403 

**To  all  of  those  at  which  you  play.  Not  to  the 
others." 

"Oh,  I  understand.  You  pay  me  a  compliment.  I 
am  very — very  recognizant,  do  you  call  it? — of  your 
appreciation." 

"I  am  musical,  you  know.  I  was  to  have  been  a 
musician,  and  had  lessons  from  old  Jack  in  the  noble 
art.     But  I  gave  it  up,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"What  presumption!  It  does  not  become  you  to 
speak  of  a  great  man  in  that  fashion,  Monsieur 
Charles." 

"True,  Mrs.  Herbert.  But  then  nobody  minds  what 
I  say. ' ' 

'■'Tiens!'"  said  Aur61ie,  with  a  light  laugh.  "You 
are  right.  You  know  how  to  make  everything  gay. 
And  so  you  gave  up  the  music,  and  are  now  to  be  a 
poet.  Can  you  think  of  no  more  suitable  profession 
than  that?" 

"It's  the  only  one  left  to  me,  except  the  army;  and 
that  is  considered  closed  to  me  because  my  brother — 
Phipson's  daughter's  husband,  you  know — is  there 
already.  First  I  was  to  be  a  college  don — a  professor. 
Then  I  took  to  music.  Then  I  tried  the  bar,  the 
medical,  engineering,  the  Indian  civil  service,  and 
got  tired  of  them  all.  In  fact  I  only  drew  the  line  at 
the  church " 

"What  is  that?     You  drew  a  line  at  the  church!" 

"It  is  what  you  very  properly  call  an  idiotisme.  I 
mean  that  I  would  not  condescend  to  be  a  parson." 

"What  a  philosopher!     Proceed. " 

"I  am  now — if  the  poetry  fails,  which  it  most  likely 
will — going  into  business.  I  shall  try  for  a  post  in 
the  Conolly  Electro-Motor  Company." 


404  Love  Among  the  Artists 

' '  I  think  that  will  suit  you  best.  I  will  play  you  some- 
thing to  encourage  you." 

She  began  to  play  a  polonaise  by  Chopin.  Herbert 
and  Mary  ceased  speaking,  but  presently  resumed 
their  conversation  in  subdued  tones.  Charlie  listened 
eagerly.  When  the  polonaise  was  finished,  she  did  not 
stop,  but  played  on,  looking  at  the  ceiling,  and 
occasionally  glancing  at  Charlie's  face. 

"Aur^lie,"  said  Herbert,  raising  his  voice  suddenly: 
"where  are  those  sketches  that  Mrs.  Scott  left  here 
last  Tuesday?" 

"Oh,  I  say!''  said  Charlie,  in  a  tone  of  strong 
remonstrance,  as  the  music  ceased.  Herbert,  not 
understanding,  looked  inquiringly  at  him.  Aurelie 
rose ;  took  the  sketches  from  her  music  stand ;  and 
handed  them  silently  to  Mrs.  Hoskyn. 

"I  am  afraid  we  have  interrupted  you,"  said  Mary, 
coloring.  Aurdlie  deprecated  the  apology  by  a 
gesture,  and  sat  down  in  a  low  chair  near  the 
window. 

"I  wish  you'd  play  again,  if  you're  not  tired,  Mrs. 
Herbert,"  said  Charlie  timidly.  ■ 

She  shook  her  head. 

"It  is  hard  that  I  should  have  to  suffer  because  my 
sister  has  a  wooden  head  with  no  ears  on  it,"  he 
whispered,  glancing  angrily,  not  at  Mary,  but  at 
Adrian.  "I  was  comfortably  settled  in  heaven  when 
they  interrupted  you.  I  wish  Jack  was  here.  He 
would  have  given  them  a  piece  of  his  mind." 

"Mr.  Herbert  does  not  like  Monsieur  Jacques." 

"Monsieur  Jacques  doesn't  like  Mr.  Herbert  either. 
There  is  no  love  lost  between  them.  Adrian  hates 
Jack's  music;  and  Jack  laughs  at  Adrian's  pictures. " 


Love  Among  the  Artists  405 

''Maman:  ring  the  bell.  Tell  them  to  bring  some 
tea. ' ' 

"Yes,  my  angel." 

"The  conversation  now  became  general  and 
desultory.  Mary,  fearing  that  she  had  already  been 
rudely  inattentive  to  her  hostess,  thought  it  better  not 
to  continue  her  chat  with  Adrian.  "I  see  our  telegram 
is  of  no  avail, "  she  said.  "Mr.  Hoskyn  has  probably 
dined  at  his  club." 

"The  more  fool  he,"  said  Charlie,  morosely. 

"What  is  that  for?"  said  Mary,  surprised  by  his 
tone.  He  looked  sulkily  at  the  piano,  and  did  not 
reply.  Then  he  stole  a  glance  at  Aur^lie,  and  was 
much  put  out  to  find  that  she  was  tendering  him  her 
empty  teacup.  He  took  it,  and  replaced  it  on  the 
table  in  confusion. 

"And  so,"  she  said,  when  he  was  again  seated  near 
her,  "you  have  succeeded  in  none  of  your  professions. " 

This  sudden  return  to  a  dropped  subject  put  him 
out  still  more.     "I — you  mean  my ?" 

"Your  metiers — whatever  you  call  them.  I  am  not 
surprised.  Monsieur  Charles.     You  have  no  patience. ' ' 

"I  can  be  patient  enough  when  I  like." 

"Do  you  ever  like?" 

"Sometimes.  When  you  play,  for  instance,  I  could 
listen  for  a  year  without  getting  tired. ' ' 

"You  would  get  very  hungry.  And  I  should  get 
very  tired  of  playing.     Besides " 

A  thud,  followed  by  babyish  screams,  interrupted 
her.  She  listened  for  a  moment,  and  left  the  room, 
followed  by  her  mother,  Mary  and  Adrian,  accustomed 
to  such  incidents,  did  not  stir.  Charlie,  reassured  by 
their  composure,  took  up  the  book  of  sketches. 


4o6  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Adrian,"  said  Mary,  in  a  low  voice:  "do  you  think 
Mrs.  Herbert  is  annoyed  with  me?" 

"No.     Why?" 

"I  mean,  was  she  annoyed — to-day — in  the  studio?" 

"I  should  not  think  so.  N-no.  Why  should  she 
be  annoyed  with  you?" 

* '  Not  perhaps  with  me  particularly.  But  with  both 
of  us.  You  must  know  what  I  mean,  Adrian.  I  felt 
in  an  excessively  false  position  when  she  came  in.  I 
do  not  mean  exactly  that  she  might  be  jealous: 
but " 

"Reassure  yourself,  Mary,"  he  replied,  with  a  sad 
smile.     "She  is  not  jealous.     I  wish  she  were." 

"You  wish  it!" 

"Yes.  It  would  be  a  proof  of  love.  I  doubt  if  she 
is  capable  of  jealousy. " 

"I  hope  not.  She  must  have  thought  it  very  odd; 
and,  of  course,  we  looked  as  guilty  as  possible. 
Innocent  people  always  do.  Hush',  here  she  is. 
Have  you  restored  peace  to  the  nursery,  Mrs. 
Herbert?" 

"My  mother  is  doing  so,"  said  Aur^lie.  "It  is  a 
very  unlucky  child.  It  is  impossible  to  find  a  cot  that 
it  cannot  fall  out  of.  But  do  not  rise.  Is  it  possible 
that  you  are  going?" 

Mary,  who  in  spite  of  Herbert's  assurance  was  not 
comfortable,  invented  unanswerable  reasons  for 
returning  home  at  once.  Charlie  had  to  leave  with 
her.  He  tried  to  bid  Aurelie  good  night  uncon- 
cernedly, but  failed.  Mary  remarked  to  Herbert,  who 
accompanied  them  to  the  door,  that  Charlie  had 
behaved  himself  much  less  awkwardly  as  a  boy  than 
he  did  now  as  a  man.     Adrian  assented ;  let  them  out ; 


Love  Among  the  Artists  407 

stood  for  a  moment  to  admire  the  beauty  of  the  even- 
ing; and  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Aur^lie 
was  sitting  on  an  ottoman,  apparently  deep  in 
thought. 

"Come!"  he  said  spiritedly:  "does  not  Mrs.  Hoskyn 
improve  on  acquaintance  ?  Is  she  not  a  nice 
woman?" 

Aur^lie  looked  at  him  dreamily  for  a  moment,  and 
then  said,  "Charming." 

"I  knew  you  would  like  her.  That  was  a  happy 
thought  of  yours  to  ask  her  to  dinner,  I  am  very 
glad  you  did. ' ' 

"I  owed  you  some  reparation,  Adrian." 

"What  for?"  he  said,  instinctively  feeling  damped. 

* '  For  interrupting  your  tete-a-tete. ' ' 

He  laughed.  "Yes,"  he  said.  "But  you  owe  me 
no  reparation  for  that.     You  came  most  opportunely. ' ' 

"That  is  quite  what  I  thought.  Ah,  my  friend,  how 
much  more  I  admire  you  when  you  are  in  love  with 
Mrs.  Hoskyn  than  when  you  are  in  love  with  me! 
You  are  so  much  more  manly  and  thoughtful.  And 
you  abandoned  her  to  marry  me !     What  folly!" 

Adrian  stood  open-mouthed,  not  only  astonished,  but 
anxious  that  she  should  perceive  his  astonishment. 
"Aurdlie,"  he  exclaimed:  "is  it  possible — it  is  hardly 
conceivable — that  you  are  jealous?" 

"N — no,"  replied  she,  after  some  consideration.  "I 
do  not  think  I  am  jealous.  Perhaps  Mr.  Hoskyn  will 
be,  if  he  happens  upon  another  tSte-a-tete.  But  you 
do  not  fight  in  England,  so  it  does  not  matter." 

"Aur61ie:  are  you  serious?" 

"Wherefore  should  I  not  be  serious?"  she  said, 
rousing  herself  a  little. 


4o8  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Because,"  he  answered  gravely,  "your  words 
imply  that  you  have  a  vile  opinion  of  Mrs.  Hoskyn 
and  of  me." 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  she  said,  carelessly  reassuring  him. 
"I  do  not  think  that  you  are  a  wicked  gallant,  like 
Don  Juan.  I  know  you  would  both  think  that  a  great 
English  sin.  I  suspect  you  of  nothing  except  what  I 
saw  in  your  faces  when  you  had  her  hands  clasped  in 
yours.     You  could  not  look  at  me  so." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  he,  indignantly. 

"I  will  shew  you,"  she  replied  calmly,  rising  and 
approaching  him.     "Give  me  your  hands." 

"Aur^lie:  this  is  chil " 

"Both  your  hands.     Give  them  to  me." 

She  took  them  as  she  spoke,  he  looking  foolish 
meanwhile.  "Now,"  she  said,  taking  a  step  back  so 
that  they  were  nearly  at  arms  length,  "behold  what  I 
mean.  Look  at  my  eyes,  as  you  looked  at  hers,  if  you 
can."  She  waited;  but  his  face  expressed  nothing 
but  confusion.  "You  cannot,"  she  added,  attempting 
to  loose  his  hands.  But  he  grasped  her  tightly ;  drew 
her  towards  him;  and  kissed  her.  "Ah,"  she  said, 
disengaging  herself  quietly,  "I  did  not  see  that  part 
of  it.  I  was  only  at  the  door  for  a  moment  before  I 
spoke. ' ' 

"Nonsense,  Aurdlie.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  kissed 
Mrs.  Hoskyn." 

"Then  you  should  have.  When  a  woman  gives  you 
both  her  hands,  that  is  what  she  expects. ' ' 

"But  I  pledge  you  my  word  that  you  are  mistaken. 
We  were  simply  shaking  hands  on  a  bargain:  the 
commonest  thing  possible  in  England." 

"A  bargain?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  409 

"An  agreement — a  species  of  arrangement  between 
us." 

"^//  bien!  And  what  was  this  agreement  that  called 
such  a  light  into  your  eyes?" 

Adrian,  about  to  reply  confidently,  hesitated  when 
he  realized  the  impression  which  his  words  would 
probably  convey.  "It  is  rather  difficult  to  explain," 
he  began. 

"Then  do  not  explain  it ;  for  it  is  very  easy  to  under- 
stand. I  know.  I  know.  My  poor  Adrian:  you  are 
in  love  without  knowing  it.  Ah!  I  envy  Mrs. 
Hoskyn." 

"If  3^ou  really  mean  that,"  he  said  eagerly,  "I  will 
forgive  you  all  the  rest. '  * 

"I  envy  her  the  power  to  be  in  love,"  rejoined 
Aur^lie,  sitting  down  again,  and  speaking  meditatively. 
"I  cannot  love.  I  can  feel  it  in  the  music — in  the 
romance — in  the  poetry;  but  in  real  life — it  is 
impossible.  I  am  fond  of  tnanian,  fond  of  the  bam- 
bino, fond  of  you  sometimes ;  but  this  is  not  love — not 
such  love  as  you  used  to  feel  for  me — as  she  feels 
now  for  you.  I  see  people  and  things  too  clearly  to 
love.  Ah  well!  I  must  content  myself  with  the 
music.  It  is  but  a  shadow.  Perhaps  it  is  as  real  as 
love  is,  after  all. ' ' 

"In  short,  Aur^lie,  you  do  not  love  me,  and  never 
have  loved  me." 

"Not  in  your  way." 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before?" 

"Because,  whilst  you  loved  me,  it  would  have 
wounded  you. ' ' 

"I  love  you  still;  and  you  know  it.  Why  did  you 
not  tell  me  so  before  we  were  married?" 


4IO  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Ah,  I  had  forgotten  that.  I  must  have  loved  you 
then.  But  you  were  only  half  real :  I  did  not  know 
you.     What  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"You  ask  me  what  is  the  matter,  after — after " 

"Come  and  sit  by  me,  and  be  tranquil.  You  are 
making  grimaces  like  a  comedian.  I  do  more  for 
you  than  you  deserve;  for  I  still  cherish  you  as  my 
husband,  whilst  you  make  bargains,  as  you  call  it,  with 
other  women." 

"Aur^lie,"  he  said,  sternly:  "there  is  one  course, 
and  only  one,  left  to  us.     We  must  separate." 

"Separate!     And  for  why?" 

"Because  you  do  not  love  me.  I  suspected  it 
before:  now  I  know  it.  Your  respect  for  me  has 
vanished  too.  I  can  at  least  set  you  free :  I  owe  that 
much  to  myself.  You  may  not  see  the  necessity  for 
this;  and  I  cannot  make  you  see  it.  None  the  less, 
we  must  separate." 

"And  what  shall  I  do  for  a  husband?  Do  you  for- 
get your  duty  to  me,  and  to  my  child?  Well,  it  does 
not  matter.  Go.  But  look  you,  Adrian,  if  you 
abandon  your  home  only  to  draw  that  woman  away 
from  hers,  it  will  be  an  infamy — one  that  will  estrange 
me  from  you  for  ever.  Do  not  hope,  when  you  tire  of 
her — for  one  tires  of  all  pronounced  people,  and  she, 
in  face  and  character,  is  very  pronounced — do  not 
hope  then  to  console  yourself  with  me.  You  may  be 
weak  and  foolish  if  you  will ;  but  when  you  cease  to 
be  a  man  of  honor,  you  are  no  longer  my  Adrian." 

"And  how,  in  heaven's  name,  shall  I  be  the  worse 
for  that,  since  already  I  am  no  longer  your  Adrian? 
You  have  told  me  that  you  never  cared  for  me " 

"Chut!     I  tell  thee  that  I  am  not  of  a  nature  to  fall 


Love  Among  the  Artists  411 

in  love.  Be  calm;  and  do  not  talk  of  separation,  and 
such  silly  things.  Have  I  not  been  good  to  her  and 
to  you  this  day?" 

"Upon  my  soul,"  cried  Adrian  despairingly,  **I 
believe  you  are  either  mad  or  anxious  to  make  me 
mad." 

"He  is  swearing!"  she  ejaculated,  lifting  her  hands. 

"I  am  not  in  love  with  Mary,"  he  continued.  "It 
is  a  gross  and  absurd  libel  on  both  of  us  to  say  so.  If 
anyone  be  to  blame,  you  are — yes,  you,  Aur^lie.  You 
have  put  the  vilest  construction  on  a  perfectly  inno- 
cent action  of  mine;  and  now  you  tell  me  with  the 
most  cynical  coolness  that  you  do  not  care  for  me. ' ' 

Aur^lie,  implying  by  a  little  shrug  that  she  gave 
him  up,  rose  and  went  to  the  piano.  The  moment 
her  fingers  touched  the  keys,  she  seemed  to  forget 
him.  But  she  stopped  presently,  and  said  with  grave 
surprise,  "  W/iaf  did  you  say,  Adrian?" 

"Nothing,"  he  replied  shortly. 

"Nothing!"  she  repeated  incredulously. 

"Nothing  that  was  intended  for  your  ears.  Since 
you  overheard  me,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  do  not  often 
offend  you  with  such  language ;  but  to-night  I  do  say 
with  all  my  soul  '  Damn  that  pianoforte. '  ' ' 

"Without  doubt  you  have  often  said  so  before  under 
your  breath,"  said  Aurelie,  closing  the  instrument 
quietly. 

"Are  you  going?"  he  said  anxiously,  as  she  moved 
toward  the  door.  "No,"  he  exclaimed,  springing 
forward,  and  timidly  putting  his  arm  about  her,  "I 
did  not  mean  that  I  disliked  your  playing.  I  only 
hate  the  piano  when  you  make  me  jealous  of  it — when 
you  go  to  it  to  forget  me." 


412  Love  Among  the  Artists 

**It  does  not  matter.  Be  tranquil.  I  am  not 
offended,"  she  said  coldly,  trying  to  disengage 
herself. 

"You  are  indeed,  Aurelie.  Pray  do  not  be  so  quick 
to " 

"Adrian:  you  are  worrying  me — you  will  make  me 
cry ;  and  then  I  will  never  forgive  you.     Let  me  go. ' ' 

At  the  threat  of  crying  he  released  her,  and  stood 
looking  piteously  at  her. 

"You  should  not  make  scenes  with  me,"  she  said 
plaintively.  "Where  is  my  handkerchief?  I  had  it  a 
moment  ago." 

"Here  it  is,  my  darling,"  he  said  humbly,  picking  it 
up  from  the  floor  where  it  had  fallen.  She  took  it 
without  thanking  him.  Then,  glancing  petulantly  at 
him,  and  seeing  him  dejected  and  wistful,  she 
relented,  and  stretched  out  her  arms  for  a  caress. 

'^Mon  dme,''  she  whispered  soothingly,  as  she  rested 
her  face  against  his. 

''Ma  vie,''  he  responded  fervently,  and  clasped  her 
with  a  shudder  of  delight  to  his  breast. 


CHAPTER   IV 

Early  in  the  afernoon  of  the  following  day,  which  was 
Sunday,  Charlie  Sutherland  presented  himself  at 
Church  Street,  Kensington,  and  asked  Mrs.  Simpson 
who  opened  the  door,  if  Mr.  Jack  was  within. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  gravely.  "He  is  not 
in  just  at  present." 

On  being  pressed  as  to  when  he  would  be  in,  Mrs. 
Simpson  became  vague  and  evasive,  although  she 
expressed  sympathy  for  the  evident  disappointment  of 
the  visitor.  At  last  he  said  he  would  probably  call 
again,  and  turned  disconsolately  away.  He  had  not 
gone  far  when,  hearing  a  shout,  he  looked  back,  and 
saw  Jack,  uncombed,  unshaven,  in  broken  slippers, 
and  a  stained  and  tattered  coat,  running  after  him, 
bareheaded. 

"Come  up — come  back,"  cried  Jack,  his  brazen 
tones  somewhat  forced  by  loss  of  breath.  "It's  all  a 
mistake.  That  jade — come  along."  He  seized 
Charlie  by  the  arm,  and  began  to  drag  him  back  to 
the  house  as  he  spoke.  The  boys  of  the  neighbor- 
hood soon  assembled  to  look  with  awe  at  the  capture  of 
Charlie,  only  a  few  of  the  older  and  less  reverent 
venturing  to  ridicule  the  scene  by  a  derisive  cheer. 
Jack  marched  his  visitor  upstairs  to  a  large  room, 
which  occupied  nearly  the  whole  of  the  first  floor.  A 
grand  pianoforte  in  the  centre  was  covered  with  writing 
materials,  music  in  print  and  manuscript,  old  news- 

413 


414  Love  Among  the  Artists 

papers,  and  unwashed  coffee  cups.  The  surrounding 
carpet  was  in  such  a  state  as  to  make  it  appear  that 
periodically,  when  the  litter  became  too  cumbrous,  it 
was  swept  away  and  permitted  to  lie  on  the  floor  just 
as  it  chanced  to  fall.  The  chairs,  the  cushions  of 
which  seemed  to  have  been  much  used  as  penwipers, 
were  occupied,  some  with  heaps  of  clothes,  others  with 
books  turned  inside  out  to  mark  the  place  at  which 
the  reader  had  put  them  down,  one  with  a  boot,  the 
fellow  of  which  lay  in  the  fender,  and  one  with  a 
grimy  kettle,  which  had  been  recently  lifted  from  the 
fire  which,  in  spite  of  the  season,  burnt  in  the  grate. 
Black,  brown  and  yellow  stains  of  ink,  coffee,  and  yolk 
of  egg  were  on  everything  in  the  place. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Jack,  impetuously  thrusting  his 
former  pupil  into  the  one  empty  chair,  a  comfortable 
one  with  elbows,  shiny  with  constant  use.  He  then 
sought  a  seat  for  himself,  and  in  so  doing  became 
aware  of  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Simpson,  who  had  come 
in  during  his  absence  with  the  hopeless  project  of 
making  the  room  ready  for  the  visitor. 

"Here,"  he  said.  "Get  some  more  coffee,  and  some 
buttered  rolls.  Where  have  you  taken  all  the  chairs 
to?  I  told  you  not  to  touch  anything  in  this — why, 
what  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  putting  the  kettle  down 
on  a  chair?" 

"Not  likely,  Mr.  Jack,"  said  the  landlady,  "that  I 
would  do  such  a  thing.  Oh  dear!  and  one  of  my 
yellow  chairs  too.     It's  too  bad." 

"You  must  have  done  it:  there  was  nobody  else  in 
the  room.     Be  off;  and  get  the  coffee." 

"I  did  not  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  raising  her 
voice;    "and    well  you    know  it.      And  I   would  be 


Love  Among  the  Artists"  415 

thankful  to  you  to  make  up  your  mind  whether  you  are 
to  be  in  or  out  when  people  call,  and  not  be  making 
a  liar  of  me  as  you  did  before  this  gentleman. ' ' 

"You  are  a  liar  ready  made,  and  a  slattern  to  boot," 
retorted  Jack.     "Look  at  the  state  of  this  room." 

"Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  with  a  sniff.  "Look  at 
it  indeed.  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,"  she  added,  turning 
to  Charlie,  "but  what  would  anybody  think  of  me  if 
they  was  told  that  this  was  my  drawing-room?" 

Jack,  his  attention  thus  recalled  to  his  guest, 
checked  himself  on  the  verge  of  a  fresh  outburst,  and 
pointed  to  the  door.  Mrs.  Simpson  looked  at  him 
scornfully,  but  went  out  without  further  ado.  Jack 
then  seized  a  chair  by  the  back,  shook  its  contents  on 
to  the  floor,  and  sat  down  near  Charlie. 

"I  should  not  have  spoken  as  I  did  just  now,"  he 
said,  with  compunction.  "Let  me  give  you  a  word  of 
advice,  Charles.  Never  live  in  the  house  with  an 
untidy  woman." 

"It  must  be  an  awful  nuisance,  Mr.  Jack." 

"It  is  sure  to  lead  to  bad  habits  in  yourself.  How 
is  your  sister,  and  your  father?" 

"Mary  is  just  the  same  as  ever;  and  so  is  the 
governor.  I  was  with  him  at  Birmingham  last  autumn. 
We  heard  the  Prometheus.  By  Jove,  Mr.  Jack,  that 
is  something  to  listen  to !  The  St.  Matthew  Passion, 
the  Ninth  Symphony,  and  the  Nibelung's  Ring,  are 
the  only  works  that  are  fit  to  be  put  behind  it.  The 
overture  alone  is  something  screeching." 

"You  like  it?  That's  right,  that's  right.  And  what 
are  you  doing  at  present?     Working  hard,  eh?" 

"The  old  story,  Mr.  Jack.  I  have  failed  in  every- 
thing just  as  I  failed  at  the  music,  though  I  stuck  to 


41 6  Love  Among  the  Artists 

that  better  than  any  of  the  rest,  whilst  I  had  you  to 
help  me. " 

"You  began  everything  too  young.  No  matter. 
There  is  plenty  of  time  yet.  Well,  well.  What's  the 
news?" 

"I'm  going  to  an  at-home  at  Madge  Lancaster's — 
the  actress,  you  know.  She  made  me  promise  I'd  call 
on  my  way  and  mention  casually  where  I  was  going. 
She  thought  that  you'd  perhaps  come  with  me — at 
least  I  expect  that  was  her  game." 

"She  asked  me  to  come  some  Sunday;  and  I  told 
her  I  would.     Is  this  Sunday?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Jack.  I  hope  you  won't  think  it  cool  of 
me  helping  her  to  collar  you  in  this  way." 

Jack  made  some  inarticulate  reply;  pulled  his  coat 
off;  and  began  to  throw  about  the  clothes  which  were 
heaped  on  the  chairs.  Presently  he  rang  the  bell 
furiously,  and,  after  waiting  about  twenty  seconds  for 
a  response,  went  to  the  door  and  shouted  for  Mrs. 
Simpson  in  a  stunning  voice.  This  had  no  more  effect 
than  the  bell ;  and  he  returned,  muttering  execrations, 
to  resume  his  search.  When  he  had  added  consider- 
able to  the  disorder  of  the  room,  Mrs.  Simpson  entered 
with  ostentatious  unconcern,  carrying  a  tray  with 
coffee  and  rolls. 

"Where  would  you  wish  me  to  put  these  things, 
sir?"  she  said  with  a  patient  air,  after  looking  in  vain 
for  a  vacant  space  on  the  pianoforte. 

"What  things?  What  do  you  mean  by  bringing 
them?     Who  asked  you  for  them?" 

*'You  did,  Mr  Jack.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to 
deny  it  to  this  gentleman's  face,  who  heard  you  give 
the  order." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  417 

"Oh!"  said  Jack,  discomfited.  "Charles:  will  you 
take  some  coffee  whilst  I  am  dressing.  Put  the  tray 
on  the  floor  if  you  can't  find  room  for  it  elsewhere." 

Mrs.  Simpson  immediately  placed  it  at  Charlie's 
feet. 

"Now,"  said  Jack,  looking  malignantly  at  her,  "be 
so  good  at  to  find  my  coat  for  me;  and  in  future, 
when  I  leave  it  in  a  particular  place,  don't  take  it 
away  from  there. ' ' 

"Yes,  sir.  And  where  did  you  leave  it  last,  if  I 
may  make  bold  to  ask?" 

"I  left  it  on  that  chair, "  said  Jack  violently.  "Do 
you  see?     On  that  chair." 

"Indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Simpson,  with  open  scorn. 
' '  You  gave  it  out  to  me  yesterday  to  brush ;  and  a  nice 
job  I  have  had  with  it:  it  took  a  whole  bottle  of 
benzine  to  fetch  out  the  stains.  It's  upstairs  in  your 
room;  and  I  beg  you  will  be  more  careful  with  it  in 
future,  or  else  send  it  to  the  dyers  to  be  cleaned  instead 
of  to  me.     Shall  I  bring  it  to  you?" 

"No.  Go  to  the — go  to  the  kitchen;  and  hold  your 
tongue.  Charlie :  I  shall  be  back  presently,  my  boy, 
if  you  will  wait.  And  take  some  coffee.  Put  the  tray 
anywhere.  Confound  that — that — that — that  woman. " 
He  left  the  room  then,  and  after  some  time  reappeared 
in  a  clean  shirt  and  a  comparatively  respectable  black 
frock  coat. 

"Where  does  she  live?"  he  said. 

"In  the  Marylebone  Road.  Her  at-homes  are  great 
fun.  Her  sisters  don't  consider  it  proper  for  a  young 
unmarried  woman  to  give  at-homes  on  her  own  hook; 
and  so  they  never  go.  I  believe  they  would  cut  her 
altogether,  only  they  can't  afford  to^,  because  she  gives 


41 8  Love  Among  the  Artists 

them  a  new  dress  occasionally.  It  will  be  a  regular 
swagger  for  me  to  go  in  with  you.  Next  to  being  a 
celebrity  oneself,  the  best  thing  is  to  know  £•  celebrity." 

Jack  only  grunted,  and  allowed  Charlie  to  talk  until 
they  arrived  at  the  house  in  the  Marylebone  Road. 
The  door  was  opened  by  a  girl  in  a  neat  dress  of  dark 
green,  with  a  miniature  mob  cap  on  her  head. 

"I  feel  half  inclined  to  ask  her  for  a  programme, 
and  tip  her  sixpence,"  whispered  Charlie,  as  they 
followed  her  upstairs.  "We  may  consider  that  she  is 
conducting  us  to  our  stalls.  Mr.  Jack  and  Mr.  Charles 
Sutherland,"  he  added  aloud  to  the  girl  as  they 
reached  the  landing. 

"Mr.  Sutherland  and  Mr.  Charles  Sutherland,"  she 
answered,  coldly  correcting  him. 

Jack  meanwhile  had  advanced  to  where  Madge 
stood.  She  wore  a  dress  of  pale  blue  velvet,  made  in 
Venetian  style  imitated  from  an  old  Paul  Veronese. 
Round  her  neck  was  a  threefold  string  of  amber  beads; 
and  she  was  shod  with  slippers  of  the  same  hue  and 
material  as  her  dress.  Her  complexion,  skilfully  put 
on,  did  not  disgust  Charlie,  but  rather  inspired  him 
with  a  gentle  regret  that  it  was  too  good  to  be 
genuine.  The  arrangement  of  the  rooms  was  as 
remarkable  as  the  costume  of  the  hostess.  The  fold- 
ing doors  had  been  removed,  and  the  partition  built 
into  an  arch  with  a  white  pillar  at  each  side.  A 
curtain  of  silvery  plush  was  gathered  to  one  side  of 
this  arch.  The  walls  were  painted  a  delicate  sheeny 
grey;  and  the  carpet  resembled  a  piece  of  thick 
whitey-brown  paper.  The  chairs  of  unvarnished 
wood,  had  rush  seats,  or  else  cushions  of  dull  straw 
color  or  cinnamon.     In  compliance   with  a  freak  of 


Love  Among  the  Artists  419 

fashion  which  prevailed  just  then,  there  were  no  less 
than  eight  lamps  distributed  about  the  apartments. 
These  lamps  had  monstrous  stems  of  pottery  ware, 
gnarled  and  uncouth  in  design.  Most  of  them  repre- 
sented masses  of  rock  with  strings  of  ivy  leaves  cling- 
ing to  them.     The  ceiling  was  of  a  light  maize  color. 

Magdalen,  surprised  by  the  announcement  of  Mr. 
Sutherland,  was  looking  towards  the  door  for  him 
over  the  head  of  Jack,  than  whom  she  was  nearly 
a  head  taller. 

*'How  d'ye  do?"  he  said,  startling  her  with  his 
brassy  voice. 

"My  dear  master,"  she  exclaimed,  in  the  pure,  dis- 
tinct tone  to  which  she  owed  much  of  her  success  on 
the  stage.     "So  you  have  come  to  me  at  last." 

"Aye,  I  have  come  at  last,"  he  said,  with  a  sus- 
picious look.     ' '  I  forgot  all  about  you ;  but  I  was  put 

in  mind   of    your    invitation    by    Charles where's 

Charles?" 

Charles  was  behind  him,  waiting  to  be  received. 

"I  am  deeply  grateful  to  you,"  said  Magdalen, 
pressing  his  hand.  Charles,  rather  embarrassed  than 
gratified,  replied  inarticulately;  vouched  for  the 
health  of  his  family ;  and  retreated  into  the  crowd. 

"I  had  ceased  to  hope  that  we  should  ever  meet 
again,"  she  said,  turning  again  to  Jack.  "I  have 
sent  you  box  after  box  that  you  might  see  your  old 
pupil  in  her  best  parts;  but  when  the  nights  came,  the 
boxes  were  empty  always." 

"I  intended  to  go — I  should  have  gone.  But  some- 
how I  forgot  the  time,  or  lost  the  tickets,  or  some- 
thing. My  landlady  mislays  things  of  that  sort;  or 
very  likely  she  burns  them." 


420  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Poor  Mrs.  Simpson!     How  is  she?" 

"Alive,  and  mischievous,  and  long  tongued  as  ever. 
I  must  leave  that  place.  I  can  stand  her  no  longer. 
Her  slovenliness,  her  stupidity,  and  her  disregard  of 
truth  are  beyond  belief." 

' '  Dear,  dear !  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  that,  Mr.  Jack, ' ' 
Magdalen  turned  her  eyes  upon  him  with  an  expres- 
sion of  earnest  sympathy  which  had  cost  her  much 
study  to  perfect.  Jack,  who  seldom  recollected  that 
the  subject  of  Mrs.  Simpson's  failings  was  not  so 
serious  to  the  rest  of  the  world  as  to  himself,  thought 
Magdalen's  concern  by  no  means  overstrained,  and 
was  about  to  enlarge  on  his  domestic  discomfort,  when 
the  servant  announced  "Mr.  Brailsford." 

Jack  slipped  away ;  and  his  old  enemy  advanced,  as 
sprucely  dressed  as  ever,  but  a  little  more  uncertain  in 
his  movements.  Magdalen  kissed  him  with  graceful 
respect,  as  she  would  have  kissed  an  actor  engaged  to 
impersonate  her  father  for  so  many  pounds  a  week. 
When  he  passed  on  and  mingled  with  the  crowd  like 
any  other  visitor,  she  forgot  him,  and  looked  round 
for  Jack.  But  he,  in  spite  of  his  attempt  to  avoid 
Mr.  Brailsford,  had  just  come  face  to  face  with  him  in 
a  remote  corner  whither  chance  had  led  them  both. 
Jack  at  once  asked  him  how  he  did. 

"How  de  do,"  said  the  old  gentleman  with  nervous 
haste.  "Glad  to — I  am  sure.  Here  he  found  his  eye- 
glass, and  was  enabled  to  distinguish  Jack's  features. 

"Sir,"  said  Jack:  "I  am  an  ill-mannered  man  on 
occasion ;  but  perhaps  you  will  overlook  that  and  allow 
me  to  claim  your  acquaintance." 

"Sir,"  replied  Brailsford,  tremulously  clasping  his 
proffered  hand:  "I  have  always  honored  and  admired 


Love  Among  the  Artists  421 

men  of  genius,  and  protested  against  the  infamous 
oppression  to  which  the  world  subjects  them.  You 
may  count  upon  me  always." 

"There  was  a  time,"  said  Jack,  with  a  glance  at  the 
maize-colored  ceiling,  "when  neither  of  us  would  have 
believed  that  we  should  come  to  make  two  in  a  crowd 
of  fashionable  celebrities  sitting  round  her  footstool." 

"She  has  made  a  proud  position  for  herself, 
certainly.  Thanks,  as  she  always  acknowledges,  above 
all  things  to  your  guidance. ' ' 

"Humph,"  said  Jack  doubtfully.  "I  taught  her  to 
make  the  best  of  such  vowels  as  there  are  left  in  our 
spoken  language ;  but  her  furniture  and  her  receptions 
are  her  own  idea. ' ' 

"They  are  the  most  ridiculous  absurdities  in  Lon- 
don," whispered  Brailsford  with  sudden  warmth.  "To 
you,  sir,  I  express  my  opinion  without  reserve.  I 
come  here  because  my  presence  may  give  a  certain 
tone — a  sanction — you  understand  me?"  Jack  nodded. 
"But  I  do  not  approve  of  such  entertainments.  I  am 
at  a  loss  to  comprehend  how  the  actress  can  so  far 
forget  the  lady.  This  room  is  not  respectable,  Mr. 
Jack :  it  is  an  outrage  on  taste  and  sensibilty.  How- 
ever, it  is  not  my  choice :  it  is  hers ;  and  de  gustibus 
non  est  disputandiini.  You  will  excuse  my  quoting 
my  old  school  books.  I  never  did  so,  sir,  in  my 
youth,  when  every  fool's  mouth  was  full  of  scraps  of 
Latin. ' ' 

"There  is  a  bad  side  to  this  sort  of  thing,"  said 
Jack.  "These  fellows  waste  their  time  coming  here; 
and  she  wastes  her  money  on  extravagancies  for  them 
to  talk  about.  But  after  all,  there  is  a  bad  side  to 
everything:    she  might    indulge  herself   with    worse 


422  Love  Among  the  Artists 

follies.  Now  that  she  is  her  own  mistress,  we  must 
all  stand  further  off.  Her  affairs  are  not  our 
business." 

The  old  gentleman  nodded  several  times  in  a 
melancholy  manner.  "There  you  have  hit  the  truth, 
sir,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "We  must  all  stand 
further  off — I  as  well  as  others.  A  very  just 
observation." 

This  dialogue,  exceptionally  long  for  a  crowded 
afternoon  reception  in  London,  was  interrupted  by 
Magdalen  coming  to  invite  Jack  to  play,  which  he 
peremptorily  refused  to  do,  remarking  that  if  the  com- 
pany were  in  a  humor  to  listen  to  music,  they  had  better 
go  to  church.  The  rebuff  created  much  disappoint- 
ment; for  Jack's  appearances  in  society,  common  as 
they  had  been  during  the  season  which  preceded  the 
first  performance  of  Prometheus,  had  since  been  very 
rare.  Stories  of  his  eccentricity  and  inaccessible 
solitude  had  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  until  they 
had  become  too  stale  to  amuse  or  too  exaggerated  to 
be  believed.  His  refusal  to  play  was  considered  so 
characteristic  that  some  of  the  guests  withdrew  at  once 
in  order  that  they  might  be  the  first  to  narrate  the 
circumstances  in  artistic  circles,  which  are  more  "at 
home"  on  Sundays  than  those  of  the  more  purely 
fashionable  class  which  has  nothing  particular  to  do 
on  week  days.  Jack  was  about  to  go  himself  when  the 
blue  velvet  sleeve  touched  his  arm,  and  Magdalen 
whispered : 

"They  will  all  go  in  a  very  few  minutes  now.  Will 
you  stay  and  let  me  have  a  moment  with  you  alone? 
It  is  so  long  since  I  have  had  a  word  of  advice  from 
you." 


Love  Among  the  Artists  423 

Jack  again  looked  suspiciously  at  her;  but  as  she 
looked  very  pretty,  he  relented,  saying  good  humoredly, 
"Get  rid  of  them  quickly,  then.  I  have  no  time  to 
waste  waiting  for  them. ' ' 

She  set  herself  to  get  rid  of  them  as  well  as  she 
could,  by  pretending  to  mistake  the  purpose  of  men 
who  came  up  to  converse  with  her,  and  surprising 
them  with  effusive  farewells.  To  certain  guests  with 
whom  she  did  not  stand  on  ceremony  she  confided  her 
desire  to  clear  the  room;  and  they  immediately  con- 
veyed her  wishes  to  their  intimate  friends,  besides 
setting  an  example  to  others  by  taking  leave  osten- 
tatiously, or  declaring  in  loud  whispers  that  it  was 
shamefully  late;  that  dear  Madge  must  be  tired  to 
death ;  and  that  they  were  full  of  remorse  at  having 
been  induced  by  her  delightful  hospitality  to  stay  so 
long.  In  fifteen  minutes  the  company  was  reduced 
to  five  or  six  persons,  who  seemed  to  think,  now  that 
the  crowd  was  over,  that  the  time  had  come  for  enjoy- 
ing themselves.  A  few  of  them,  who  knew  each 
other,  relaxed  their  ceremonious  bearing;  raised  their 
voices;  and  entered  into  a  discussion  on  theatrical 
topics  in  which  they  evidently  expected  Magdalen  to 
join.  The  rest  wandered  about  the  rooms,  and  made 
the  most  of  their  opportunity  of  having  a  good  look 
at  the  great  actress  and  the  great  composer,  who  was 
standing  at  a  window  with  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  frowning  unapproachably.  Mr.  Brailsford  also 
remained ;  and  he  was  the  first  to  notice  the  air  of 
exhaustion  with  which  his  daughter  was  mutely 
appealing  to  her  superfluous  guests. 

"My  child,"  he  said:  "are  you  fatigued?" 

"I  am  worn  out,"  she  replied,  in  a  whisper  which 


424  Love  Among  the  Artists 

reached  the  furthest  corner  of  the  room.  "How  I 
long  to  be  alone!" 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  so  before?"  said  Brails- 
ford,  offended,  "I  shall  not  trouble  you  any  longer, 
Magdalen.     Good  evening, " 

"Hush,"  she  said,  laying  her  arm  caressingly  on 
his,  and  speaking  this  time  in  a  real  whisper.  "I 
meant  that  for  the  others.  I  want  you  to  do  something 
forme.  Mr.  Jack  is  waiting  to  go  with  you;  and  I 
particularly  want  to  speak  to  him  alone — about  a 
pupil.  Could  you  slip  away  without  his  seeing  you? 
Do^  dear  old  daddy;  for  I  may  never  have  another 
chance  of  catching  him  in  a  good  humor."  Magdalen 
knew  that  her  father  would  be  jealous  of  having  to 
leave  before  Jack  unless  she  could  contrive  to  make 
him  do  so  of  his  own  accord.  The  stratagem  suc- 
ceeded, Mr.  Brailsford  left  the  room  with  precaution, 
glancing  apprehensively  at  the  musician,  who  still 
presented  a  stolid  back  view  to  the  company.  The 
group  of  talkers,  warned  by  Madge's  penetrating 
whisper,  submissively  followed  him,  leaving  only  one 
young  man  who  was  anxious  to  go,  and  did  not  know 
how  to  do  it.  She  relieved  him  by  giving  him  her 
hand,  and  expressing  a  hope  that  she  should  see  him 
next  Sunday.     He  promised  earnestly,  and  departed. 

"Now,"  said  Jack,  wheeling  round  the  instant  the 
door  closed.  "What  can  I  do  for  you?  Your  few 
minutes  have  spun  themselves  out  to  twenty." 

"Did  they  seem  so  very  long?"  she  said,  seating 
herself  upon  an  ottoman  and  throwing  her  dress  into 
graceful  folds. 

"Yes,"  said  Jack,  bluntly. 

"So  they  did  to  me.     Won't  you  sit  down?" 


Love  Among  the  Artists  425 

Jack  pushed  an  oaken  stool  opposite  to  her  with  his 
foot,  and  sat  upon  it,  much  as,  in  a  Scandinavian 
story,  a  dwarf  might  have  sat  at  the  feet  of  a  princess. 
"Well,  mistress,"  he  said.  "Things  have  changed 
since  I  taught  you.     Eh?" 

' '  Some  things  have. ' ' 

"You  have  become  great;  and  so — in  my  small 
way — have  I." 

"/  have  become  what  you  call  great,"  she  said. 
"But  you  have  not  changed.  People  have  found  out 
your  greatness,  that  is  all." 

"Well  said,"  said  Jack,  approvingly.  "They 
starved  me  long  enough  first,  damn  them.  Used  I  to 
swear  at  you  when  I  was  teaching  you?" 

"I  think  you  used  to.  Just  a  little,  when  I  was  very 
dull." 

"It  is  a  bad  habit — a  stupid  one,  as  all  low  habits 
are.  I  rarely  fall  into  it.  And  so  you  stuck  to  your 
work,  and  fought  your  way.  That  was  right.  Are 
you  as  fond  of  the  stage  as  ever?" 

"It  is  my  profession,"  said  Madge,  with  a  disparag- 
ing shrug.  "One's  profession  is  only  half  of  one's 
life.  Acting  in  London,  where  the  same  play  runs 
for  a  whole  season,  leaves  one  time  to  think  of  other 
things. ' ' 

"Sundays at  home,  and  fine  furniture,  for  instance." 

"Things  that  they  vainly  pretend  to  supply.  I  have 
told  you  that  my  profession  is  only  half  my  life — the 
public  half.  Now  that  I  have  established  that  firmly, 
I  begin  to  find  that  the  private  and  personal  half,  the 
half  which  is  concerned  with  home  and — and  domestic 
ties,  must  be  well  established  too,  or  else  the  life 
remains  incomplete,  and  the  heart  unsatisfied." 


426  Love  Among  the  Artists 

**In  plain  English,  you  have  too  much  leisure, 
which  you  can  employ  no  better  than  in  grum- 
bling. ' ' 

"Perhaps  so;  but  am  I  much  at  fault?  When  I 
entered  upon  my  profession,  its  difficulties  so  filled  my 
mind  with  hopes  and  fears,  and  its  actual  work  so  fully 
occupied  my  time,  that  I  forgot  every  other  con- 
sideration, and  cut  myself  off  from  my  family  and 
friends  with  as  little  hesitation  as  a  child  might  feel  in 
exchanging  an  estate  for  a  plaything.  Now  that  the 
difficulties  are  overcome,  the  hopes  fulfilled  (or 
abandoned)  and  the  fears  dispelled — now  that  I  find 
that  my  profession  does  not  suffice  to  fill  my  life,  and 
that  I  have  not  only  time,  but  desire,  for  other 
interests,  I  find  how  thoughtless  I  was  when  I  ran 
away  from  all  the  affection  I  had  unwittingly  gathered 
to  myself  as  I  grew. ' ' 

"Why?  What  have  you  lost?  You  have  your  family 
still." 

"I  am  as  completely  estranged  from  them  by  my 
profession  as  if  it  had  transported  me  to  another 
world." 

"I  doubt  if  they  are  any  great  loss  to  you.  The 
public  are  fond  of  you,  ain't  they?" 

"They  pay  me  to  please  them.  If  I  disappeared, 
they  would  forget  me  in  a  week. ' ' 

"Why  shouldn't  they?  How  long  do  you  think  they 
should  wear  mourning  for  you?  Have  you  made  no 
friends  in  your  own  way  of  life?" 

"Friends?     Yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"You  suppose  so!  What  is  the  matter,  then?  What 
more  do  you  want?" 

Magdalen  raised   her    eyelids  for  an  instant,    and 


Love  Among  the  Artists  427 

looked  at  him.  Then  she  said,  "Nothing,"  and  let  the 
lids  fall  with  the  cadence  of  her  voice. 

"Listen  tome,"  said  Jack,  after  a  pause,  drawing 
his  seat  nearer  to  her,  and  watching  her  keenly. 
"You  want  to  be  romantic.  You  won't  succeed. 
Look  at  the  way  we  cling  to  the  stage,  to  music,  and 
poetry,  and  so  forth.  Why  do  you  think  we  do  that? 
Just  because  we  long  to  be  romantic,  and  when  we  try 
it  in  real  life,  facts  and  duties  baffle  us  at  every  turn. 
Men  who  write  plays  for  you  to  act,  cook  up  the  facts 
and  duties  so  as  to  heighten  the  romance ;  and  so  we 
all  say  'How  wonderfully  true  to  nature!'  and  feel  that 
the  theatre  is  the  happiest  sphere  for  us  all.  Heroes 
and  heroines  are  to  be  depended  on :  there  is  no  more 
chance  of  their  acting  prosaically  than  there  is  of  a 
picture  in  the  Royal  Academy  having  stains  on  its 
linen,  or  blacks  in  its  sky.  But  in  real  life  it  is  just 
the  other  way.  The  incompatibility  is  not  in  the 
world,  but  in  ourselves.  Your  father  is  a  romantic 
man;  and  so  am  I;  but  how  much  of  our  romance 
have  we  ever  been  able  to  put  into  practice?" 

"More  than  you  recollect,  perhaps,"  said  Madge, 
unmoved  (for  constant  preoccupation  with  her  own 
person  had  made  her  a  bad  listener),  "but  more  than 
I  shall  ever  forget.  There  has  been  one  piece  of 
romance  in  my  life — a  very  practical  piece.  A  per- 
fect stranger  once  gave  me,  at  my  mere  request,  all 
the  money  he  had  in  the  world. ' ' 

"Perhaps  he  fell  in  love  with  you  at  first  sight.  Or 
perhaps — which  is  much  the  same  thing — he  was  a 
fool." 

"Perhaps  so.  It  occurred  at  Paddington  Station 
some  years  ago." 


428  Love  Among  the  Artists 

"Oh!  Is  that  what  you  are  thinking  of?  Well,  that 
is  a  good  illustration  of  what  I  am  saying.  Did  any 
romance  come  out  of  that?  In  three  weeks,  time 
you  were  grubbing  away  at  elocution  with  me  at  so 
much  a  lesson." 

"I  know  that  no  romance  came  out  of  it — for  you." 

"So  you  think,"  said  Jack  complacently;  "but 
romance  comes  out  of  everything  for  me.  Where  do 
you  suppose  I  get  the  supplies  for  my  music?  And 
what  passion  there  is  in  that! — what  fire — what  dis- 
regard of  conventionality !  In  the  music,  you  under- 
stand: not  in  my  everyday  life." 

"Your  art,  then,  is  enough  for  you,"  said  Madge,  in 
a  touching  tone. 

"I  like  to  hear  you  speak,"  observed  Jack:  "you  do 
it  very  well.  Yes:  my  art  is  enough  for  me,  more 
than  I  have  time  and  energy  for  occasionally.  How- 
ever, I  will  tell  you  a  little  romance  about  myself 
which  may  do  you  some  good.  Eh?  Have  you  the 
patience  to  listen?" 

' '  Patience ! ' '  echoed  Madge,  in  a  low  steady  voice. 
"Try  whether  you  can  tire  me." 

"Very  well:  you  shall  hear.  You  must  know  that 
when,  after  a  good  many  years  of  poverty  and 
neglect,  I  found  myself  a  known  man,  earning  over  a 
hundred  a  year,  I  felt  for  a  while  as  if  my  house  was 
built  and  I  had  no  more  to  do  than  to  put  it  in  repair 
from  time  to  time — much  as  you  think  you  have 
mastered  the  art  of  acting,  and  need  only  learn  a  new 
part  occasionally  to  keep  your  place  on  the  stage. 
And  so  it  came  about  that  I — Owen  Jack — began  to 
languish  in  my  solitude ;  to  pine  for  a  partner ;  and,  in 
short,  to  suffer  from  all  those  symptoms  which  you  so 


Love  Among  the  Artists  429 

admirably  described  just  now."  He  gave  this 
account  of  himself  with  a  derision  so  uncouth  that 
Madge  lost  for  the  moment  her  studied  calm,  and 
shrank  back  a  little.  ' '  I  was  quite  proud  to  think  that 
I  had  the  affections  of  a  man  as  well  as  the  inspiration 
of  a  musician ;  and  I  selected  the  lady ;  fell  in  love  as 
hard  as  I  could;  and  made  my  proposals  in  due  form. 
I  was  luckier  than  I  deserved  to  be.  Her  admiration 
of  me  was  strictly  impersonal ;  and  she  nearly  had  a 
fit  at  the  idea  of  marrying  me.  She  is  now  the  wife 
of  a  city  speculator;  and  I  have  gone  back  to  my  old 
profession  of  musical  student,  and  quite  renounced 
the  dignity  of  past  master  of  the  art.  I  sometimes 
shudder  when  I  think  that  I  was  once  within  an  ace  of 
getting  a  wife  and  family. ' ' 

'*And  so  your  heart  is  dead?" 

"No:  it  is  marriage  that  kills  the  heart  and  keeps  it 
dead.  Better  starve  the  heart  than  overfeed  it. 
Better  still  to  feed  it  only  on  fine  food,  like  music. 
Besides,  I  sometimes  think  I  will  marry  Mrs.  Simpson 
when  I  grow  a  little  older. ' ' 

"You  are  jesting:  you  have  been  jesting  all  along. 
It  is  not  possible  that  a  woman  refused  your  love. ' ' 

"It  is  quite  possible,  and  has  happened.  And," 
here  he  rose  and  prepared  to  go,  "I  should  do  the 
same  good  service  to  a  woman,  if  one  were  so  foolish 
as  to  persuade  herself  on  the  same  grounds  that  she 
loved  me." 

"You  would  not  believe  that  she  could  love  you  on 
any  deeper  and  truer  grounds?"  said  Madge,  rising 
slowly  without  taking  her  eyes  off  his  face. 

"Stuff!  Wake  up,  Miss  Madge;  and  realize  what 
nonsense  you  are  talking.     Rub  your  eyes  and  look  at 


430  Love  Among  the  Artists 

me,  a  Kobold — a  Cyclop,  as  that  fine  woman  Mrs. 
Herbert  once  described  me.  What  sane  person  under 
forty  would  be  likely  to  fall  in  love  with  me?  And 
what  do  I  care  about  women  over  forty,  except 
perhaps  Mrs.  Herbert — or  Mrs.  Simpson?  I  like  them 
young  and  beautiful,  like  you."  Madge,  as  if  uncon- 
sciously, raised  her  hand,  half  offering  it  to  him.  He 
took  it  promptly,  and  continued  humorously,  "And  I 
love  you,  and  have  always  done  so.  Who  could  know 
such  a  lovely  woman  and  fine  genius  as  you  without 
loving  her?  But,"  he  added,  shaking  her  fingers 
warningly,  "you  must  not  love  me.  My  time  for 
playing  Romeo  was  over  before  you  ever  saw  me; 
and  Juliet  must  not  fall  in  love  with  Friar  Lawrence, 
even  when  he  is  a  great  composer," 

"Not  if  he  forbids  her — and  she  can  help  it,"  said 
Madge  with  solemn  sadness,  letting  her  hand  drop  as 
he  released  it. 

"Not  on  any  account,"  said  Jack.  "Come,"  he 
added,  turning  on  her  imperiously:  "we  are  not  a  pair, 
you  and  I.  I  know  how  to  respect  myself:  do  you 
learn  to  know  yourself.  We  two  are  artists,  as  you  are 
aware.  Well,  there  is  an  art  that  is  inspired  by  noth- 
ing but  a  passion  for  shamming;  and  that  is  yours,  so 
far.  There  is  an  art  which  is  inspired  by  a  passion 
for  beauty,  but  only  in  men  who  can  never  associate 
beauty  with  a  lie.  That  is  my  art.  Master  that  and 
you  will  be  able  to  make  true  love.  At  present  you 
only  know  how  to  make  scenes,  which  is  too  common 
an  accomplishment  to  interest  me.  You  see  you  have 
not  quite  finished  you  lessons  yet.     Goodbye." 

"Adieu,"  said  Madge,  like  a  statue. 

He  walked  out  in  the  most  prosaic  manner  possible ; 


Love  Among  the  Artists  431 

and  she  sank  on  the  ottoman  in  an  attitude  of  despair, 
and — finding  herself  at  her  ease  in  it,  and  not  under- 
standing him  in  the  least — kept  it  up  long  after  he,  by 
closing  the  door,  had,  as  it  were,  let  fall  the  curtain. 
For  it  was  her  habit  to  attitudinize  herself  when  alone 
quite  as  often  as  to  her  people,  in  whose  minds  the 
pleasure  of  attitudinizing  is  unalloyed  by  association 
with  the  labor  of  breadwinning. 

Jack,  meanwhile,  had  let  himself  out  of  the  house. 
It  had  become  dusk  by  this  time;  and  he  walked 
away  in  a  sombre  mood,  from  which  he  presently 
roused  himself  to  shake  his  head  at  the  house  he  had 
just  left,  and  to  say  aloud,  "You  are  a  bold-faced  jade. " 
This  remark,  which  was  followed  by  muttered  impre- 
cations, was  ill-received  by  a  passing  woman  who, 
applying  it  to  herself,  only  waited  until  he  was  at  a 
safe  distance  before  retorting  with  copious  and  shrill 
abuse,  which  soon  caused  many  persons  to  stop  and 
stare  after  him.  But  he,  hardly  conscious  of  the 
tumult,  and  not  suspecting  that  it  had  anything  to  do 
with  him,  walked  on  without  raising  his  head,  and 
was  presently  lost  to  them  in  the  deepening  dark- 
ness. 

All  this  time,  Charlie,  who  had  been  among  the 
first  to  leave  Madge's  rooms,  was  wandering  about 
Kensington  in  the  neighborhood  of  Herbert's  lodging. 
He  felt  restless  and  unsatisfied,  shrinking  from  the 
observation  of  the  passers-by,  with  a  notion  that  they 
might  suspect  and  ridicule  the  motive  of  his  lurking, 
there.  He  turned  into  Campden  Hill  at  last,  and 
went  to  his  sister's,  Mary  usually  had  visitors  on 
Sunday  evenings;  and  some  of  them  might  help  him 
to  pass  away  the  evening  pleasantly  in  spite  of  Hoskyn's 


432  Love  Among  the  Artists 

prose  Perhaps  even — but  here  he  shook  off  further 
speculation,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 

"Anyone  upstairs?"  he  asked  carelessly  of  the  maid, 
as  he  hung  up  his  hat. 

"Only  one  lady,  sir,     Mrs,  Herbert." 

Something  within  him  seemed  to  make  a  spring  at 
the  name.  He  glanced  at  himself  in  the  mirror  before 
going  into  the  drawing-room,  where,  to  his  extreme 
disappointment,  he  found  Mary  conversing,  not  with 
Herbert's  wife,  but  with  his  mother.  She  had  but 
just  arrived,  and  was  explaining  to  Mary  that  she  had 
returned  the  day  before  from  a  prolonged  absence  in 
Scotland.  Charlie  never  enjoyed  his  encounters  with 
Mrs.  Herbert;  for  she  had  known  him  as  a  boy,  and 
had  not  yet  got  out  the  habit  of  treating  him  as  one. 
So,  hearing  that  Hoskyn  was  in  another  room,  smok- 
ing, he  pleaded  a  desire  for  a  cigar,  and  went  off  to 
join  him,  leaving  the  two  ladies  together, 

"You  were  saying — ?"  said  Mary,  resuming  the 
conversation  which  his  entrance  had  interrupted, 

"I  was  saying,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  "that  I  have 
never  been  able  to  sympathize  with  the  interest  which 
you  take  in  Adrian's  life  and  opinions,  Geraldine 
tells  me  that  I  have  no  maternal  instinct;  but  then 
Geraldine  has  no  sons,  and  does  not  quite  know  what 
she  it  talking  about.  I  look  on  Adrian  as  a  failure ; 
and  I  really  cannot  take  an  interest  in  a  man  who  is  a 
failure.  His  being  my  son  only  makes  the  fact  disap- 
pointing to  me  personally.  I  retain  a  kind  of  nursery 
affection  for  my  boy ;  but  of  what  use  is  that  to  him, 
since  he  has  given  up  his  practice  of  stabbing  me 
through  it?  I  would  go  to  him  if  he  were  ill;  and 
help  him  if  he  were  in  trouble;  but  as  to  maintain- 


Love  Among  the  Artists  433 

ing  a  constant  concern  on  his  account,  really  I  do  not 
see  why  I  should.  You,  with  your  own  little  dear 
one  a  fresh  possession — almost  a  part  of  yourself  still, 
doubtless  think  me  very  heartless;  but  you  will  learn 
that  children  have  their  separate  lives  and  interests  as 
completely  independent  of  their  parents  as  the 
remotest  strangers.  I  do  not  think  Adrian  would 
even  like  me,  were  it  not  for  his  sense  of  duty.  You 
will  understand  some  day  that  the  common  notion  of 
parental  and  filial  relations  are  more  unpractical  than 
even  those  of  love  and  marriage. ' ' 

Mary,  who  had  already  made  some  discoveries  in 
this  direction,  did  not  protest  as  she  would  have  done 
in  her  maiden  time.  "What  surprises  me  chiefly  is 
that  Mrs.  Herbert  should  have  been  rude  to  you,"  she 
said.  "I  doubt  whether  she  is  particularly  fond  of 
me:  indeed,  lam  sure  she  is  not;  but  nothing  could 
be  more  exquisitely  polite  and  kind  than  her  manner 
to  me,  especially  in  her  own  house." 

"I  grant  you  the  perfection  of  her  manners,  dear. 
She  was  not  rude  to  me.  Not  that  they  are  exactly  the 
manners  of  good  society ;  but  they  are  perfect  of  their 
kind,  for  all  that.  Hush!  I  think — did  I  not  hear 
Adrian's  voice  that  time?" 

Adrian  was,  in  fact,  speaking  in  the  hall  to  Hoskyn, 
who  had  just  appeared  there  with  Charlie  on  his  way 
to  the  drawing-room.  Aur^lie  was  with  her  husband. 
They  all  went  for  a  moment  into  the  study,  which 
served  on  Sunday  evenings  as  a  cloak-room. 

*'I  assure  you,  Mrs.  Herbert,"  said  Hoskyn, 
officiously  helping  Aur^lie  to  take  off  her  mantle,  "I 
am  exceedingly  glad  to  see  you." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Aur^lie;  "but  this  is  quite  wrong. 


434  Love  Among  the  Artists 

It  is  you  who  should  render  me  a  visit  in  this  moment, 
because  I  ask  you  to  dine  with  me;  and  you  do  not 
come." 

"You  have  turned  up  at  a  very  good  time,"  said 
Charlie  mischievously.     "Mrs.  Herbert  is  upstairs. " 

"My  mother!"  said  Adrian,  in  consternation. 

"Shall  we  go  upstairs?"  said  Hoskyn,  leading  the 
way  with  resolute  cheerfulness. 

Adrian  looked  at  Aur61ie.  She  had  dropped  the 
lively  manner  in  which  she  had  spoken  to  Hoskyn, 
and  was  now  moving  towards  the  door  with  ominous 
grace  and  calm. 

"Aurelie,"  he  said,  detaining  her  in  the  room  for  a 
moment:  "my  mother  is  here.  You  will  speak  to  her 
— for  my  sake — will  you  not?" 

She  only  raised  her  hand  to  signify  that  she  was  not 
to  be  troubled,  and  then,  without  heeding  his  look  of 
pain  and  disappointment,  passed  out  and  followed 
Hoskyn  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Mary  and  Mrs. 
Herbert,  having  heard  her  foreign  voice,  were 
waiting,  scarcely  less  disturbed  than  Adrian  by  their 
fear  of  how  she  might  act. 

"Mrs.  Herbert  junior  has  actually  condescended  to 
pay  you  a  visit,  Mary,"  said  Hoskyn. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Mary,  with  misgiving.  "I 
am  so  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"So  often  have  I  to  reproach  myself  not  to  have 
called  on  my  friends,"  said  Aurelie  in  her  sweetest 
voice,  "that  I  yielded  to  Adrian  at  the  risk  of  derang- 
ing you  by  coming  on  the  Sunday  evening."  A  pause 
followed,  during  which  she  looked  inquisitively 
around.  "Ah!"  she  exclaimed,  with  an  air  of  sur- 
prise and  pleasure,  as  she  recognized  Mrs.  Herbert, 


Love  Among  the  Artists  435 

**is  it  possible?  You  are  again  in  London,  madame. " 
She  advanced  and  offered  her  hand.  Mrs.  Herbert, 
who  had  sat  calmly  looking  at  her,  made  the  greeting 
as  brief  as  possible,  and  turned  her  attention  to 
Adrian.  Nevertheless,  Aur^lie  drew  a  chair  close  to 
hers,  and  sat  down  there. 

"You  are  looking  very  well,  mother,"  said  Adrian. 
"When  did  you  return?" 

"Only  yesterday,  Adrian."  There  was  a  brief 
silence.  Adrian  looked  anxiously  at  Aur^lie;  and  his 
mother  mutely  declined  to  look  at  her. 

"But  behold  what  is  absurd!"  said  Aurdlie.  "You, 
madame,  who  are  encore  so  young — so  beautiful—" — 
here  Mrs.  Herbert,  who  had  turned  to  her  with 
patient  attention,  could  not  hide  an  expression  of 
wonder — "you  are  already  a  grandmother.  Adrian 
has  what  you  call  a  son  and  heir.     It  is  true." 

"Yes,  I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert 
coolly. 

A  slight  change  appeared  for  an  instant  in  Aurelie's 
face;  and  she  glanced  for  a  moment  gravely  at  her 
husband.  He,  with  disgust  only  half  concealed, 
said,  "You  could  not  broach  a  subject  less  interest- 
ing to  my  mother,"  and  turned  away  to  speak  to 
Mary. 

"Adrian,"  began  Mrs.  Herbert,  who  found  herself 
unexpectedly  disturbed  by  the  implied  imputation  of 

want  of  feeling:  "I  do  not  think "     Then,  as  he 

was  not  attending  to  her,  she  turned  to  Aur^lie  and 
said,  "You  really  must  not  accept  everything  that 
Adrian  says  seriously.  Pray  tell  me  all  about  your 
boy — my  grandson,  I  should  say." 

"He  is  like  you,"  said  Aur^lie,  trying  to  conceal  the 


436  Love  Among  the  Artists 

chill  which  had  fallen  upon  her.  ' '  Perhaps  you  will 
like  to  see  him.  If  so,  I  shall  bring  him  to  you,  if 
you  will  permit  me.  * ' 

"I  shall  be  very  glad,"  said  Mrs.  Herbert,  rather 
surprised.  "Let  me  say  that  I  have  been  expecting 
you  to  call  on  me  for  some  time." 

"You  are  very  good,"  said  Aurdlie.  "But  think  of 
how  I  live.  I  am  always  voyaging;  and  you  also  are 
seldom  in  London.  Besides,  when  one  is  an  artist  one 
neglects  things.  Forget,  I  pray  you,  my — my — ach !  I 
do  not  know  how  to  say  it.  But  I  will  come  to  you 
with  Monsieur  Jean  Szczympliga  Herbert.  That 
reminds  me :  I  know  not  your  address. ' ' 

Mrs.  Herbert  supplied  the  desired  information ;  and 
the  conversation  then  proceeded  amicably  with 
occasional  help  from  Hoskyn  and  Charlie.  Mary  and 
Adrian  had  withdrawn  to  another  part  of  the  room, 
and  were  already  engrossed  in  a  discussion.  In  the 
course  of  it  Mary  remarked  that  matters  were  evidently 
smooth  between  the  two  Mrs.  Herberts. 

"I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Adrian,  not  looking  glad. 
"I  was  disposed  to  think  Aur^lie  in  fault  on  that  point; 
but  I  see  plainly  enough  now  how  the  coolness  was 
brought  about.  I  should  not  have  blamed  Aurdlie  at 
all  if  she  had  repaid  my  mother's  insolence — I  do  not 
think  that  at  all  too  strong  a  word — in  kind.  Poor 
Aurelie !  I  have  all  been  all  this  time  secretly  thinking 
hardly  of  her  for  having,  as  I  thought,  rebuffed  my 
mother.  Unjust  and  stupid  that  I  am  not  to  have 
known  better  from  my  lifelong  experience  of  the  one, 
and  my  daily  observation  of  the  other!  Aurelie  has 
conciliated  her  to-night  solely  because  I  begged  her  to 
do  so  as  we  came  upstairs.     You  cannot  deny  that  my 


Love  Among  the  Artists  437 

wife  can  be  perfectly  kind  and  self-sacrificing  when- 
ever there  is  occasion  for  it." 

*'I  cannot  deny  it!  Adrian:  you  speak  as  though  I 
were  in  the  habit  of  disparaging  her.  You  are  quite 
wrong.  No  one  can  admire  her  more  than  I.  My 
only  fear  is  that  she  is  too  sweet,  and  may  spoil  you. 
How  could  I  resist  her?  Even  your  mother,  preju- 
diced as  she  certainly  was  against  her,  has  yielded. 
You  can  see  by  her  face  that  she  has  given  up  the 
battle.  I  think  we  had  better  join  them.  We  have 
a  very  rude  habit  of  getting  into  a  corner  by  ourselves. 
I  am  sure,  in  spit'^  of  all  you  say,  that  Mrs.  Herbert  is 
too  fond  of  you  to  like  it. ' ' 

"Mrs.  Herbert  is  a  strange  being,"  said  Adrian, 
rising.  "I  no  longer  pretend  to  understand  her  likes 
and  dislikes," 

Mary  made  a  mental  note  that  Aur^lie  had  probably 
had  more  to  say  on  the  subject  of  what  she  saw  in  the 
studio  than  Adrian  had  expected.  The  general  con- 
versation which  ensued  did  not  run  on  personal 
matters.  Aurelie  was  allowed  to  lead  it,  as  it  was 
tacitly  understood  that  the  interest  of  the  occasion  in 
some  manner  centred  in  her.  Mrs.  Herbert  laugh- 
ingly asked  her  for  the  secret  of  managing  Adrian; 
but  she  adroitly  passed  on  to  some  other  question, 
and  would  not  discuss  him  or  in  any  way  treat  him 
more  familiarly  than  she  did  Hoskyn  or  Charlie. 

Later  on,  Hoskyn  proposed  that  they  should  go 
downstairs  to  a  room  which  communicated  with  the 
garden  by  a  large  window  and  a  small  grassy  terrace. 
As  the  night  was  sultry,  they  readily  agreed,  and  were 
soon  seated  below  at  a  light  supper,  after  which 
Hoskyn  strolled  out  into  the  garden  with  Adrian  to 


438  Love  Among  the  Artists 

smoke  another  cigar,  and  to  shew  a  recently  purchased 
hose  and  lawnmower,  it  being  his  habit  to  require  his 
visitors  to  interest  themselves  in  his  latest  acquisitions, 
whether  of  children,  furniture  or  gardening  imple- 
ments. Mrs.  Herbert,  who,  despite  the  glory  of  the 
moon,  could  not  overcome  her  belief  that  fresh  air, 
to  be  safely  sat  in,  should  be  tempered  by  a  roof,  did 
not  venture  beyond  the  carpet;  and  Mary  felt  bound 
to  remain  in  the  room  with  her.  Aurelie  walked  out 
to  the  edge  of  the  tjrrace;  clasped  her  hands  behind 
her;  and  became  rapt  in  contemplation  of  the  cloud- 
less sky,  which  was  like  a  vast  moonlit  plain.  Her 
attention  was  recalled  by  the  voice  of  Charlie  beside 
her. 

"Awfully  jolly  night,  isn't  it.  Mrs.  Herbert?" 

"Yes,  it  is  very  fine." 

"I  suppose  you  find  no  end  of  poetry  in  all  those 
stars." 

"Poetry!  No,  I  am  not  at  all  poetic,  Monsieur 
Charles." 

"I  don't  altogether  believe  that,  you  know.  You 
look  poetic." 

"It  is  therefore  that  people  mistake  me.  They  are 
very  arbitrary.  They  say,  'Mademoiselle  Szczympliga 
has  such  and  such  a  face  and  figure.  In  our  minds 
such  a  face  and  figure  associate  with  poetry.  There- 
fore must  she  be  poetic.  We  will  have  it  so ;  and  if 
she  disappoint  us  we  will  be  very  angry  with  her.' 
And  I  do  disappoint  them.  When  they  talk  poetically 
of  music  and  things,  I  am  impatient  myself  to  be  at  home 
with  maman,  who  never  talks  of  such  things,  and  the 
bambino^  who  never  talks  at  all.  What,  think  you, 
do  I  find  in  those  stars?     I  am  looking  for  Aurelie  and 


Love  Among  the  Artists  439 

Thekla  in  what  you  call  Charles's  wain.  Aha!  I  did 
not  think  of  that  before.  You  are  Monsieur  Charles, 
to  whom  belongs  the  wain." 

"Yes,  I  have  put  my  hand  to  the  plough  and 
turned  back  often  enough.  What  may  Aur^lie  and 
Thekla  be?" 

"Aurelie  is  myself ;  and  Thekla  is  my  doll.  In  my 
infancy  I  named  a  star  after  every  one  whom  I  liked. 
Only  very  particular  persons  were  given  a  place  in 
Charles's  wain.  It  was  the  great  chariot  of  honor; 
and  in  the  end  I  found  no  one  worthy  of  it  but  my  doll 
and  myself.  Behold  how  I  am  poetic !  I  was  a  silly 
child ;  for  I  forgot  to  give  my  mother  a  star — I  forgot 
all  my  family.  When  my  mother  found  that  out  one 
day,  she  said  I  had  no  heart.  And,  indeed,  I  fear  I 
have  none." 

"Heaven  forbid!" 

"Look  you,  Monsieur  Charles,"  she  said,  with  a 
sudden  air  of  shrewdness,  unclasping  her  hands  to 
shake  her  finger  at  him:  "I  am  not  what  you  think  me 
to  be.  I  am  the  very  other  things  of  it.  I  have  the 
soul  commercial  within  me." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  said  eagerly;  "for  I  want 
to  make  a  business  proposal  to  you.  Will  you  give 
me  lessons?" 

"Give  you  lesson!     Lesson  of  what?" 

"Lessons  in  playing.  I  want  awfully  to  become  a 
good  pianist ;  and  I  have  never  had  any  really  good 
teaching  since  I  was  a  boy." 

'"''Vraiment?  Ah!  You  think  that  as  you  persevered 
so  well  in  the  different  professions,  you  will  find  it 
easy  to  become  a  player.     Is  it  not  so?" 

"Not  at  all.     I  know  that  playing  requires  years  of 


440  Love  Among  the  Artists 

perseverance.  But  I  think  I  can  persevere  if  you  will 
teach  me." 

"Monsieur  Charles:  you  are — what  shall  I  call  you? 
You  are  an  ingenious  infant,  I  think." 

"Don't  make  fun  of  me,  Mrs.  Herbert.  I'm  per- 
fectly in  ear "     Here,  to  his  confusion,  his  voice 

broke  with  emotion. 

"You  think  I  am  mocking  you?"  she  said,  not  seem- 
ing to  notice  the  accident. 

"I  am  not  fool  enough  to  suppose  that  you  care 
what  I  think,"  he  said  bitterly,  losing  his  self-posses- 
sion. "I  know  you  won't  give  me  the  lessons.  I 
knew  it  before." 

"And  wherefore  then  did  you  ask  me?" 

"Because  I  love  you, "he  replied,  with  symptoms 
of  hysterical  distress.     "I  love  you  " 

"Ah!"  said  Aurelie  rcverely.  "Do  you  see  my 
husband  there  looki:  g  at  you?  And  do  you  not  know 
that  it  is  very  wicked  to  say  such  a  thing  to  me: 
Remember,  Monsieur  Charles,  you  are  quite  sober 
now.     I  shall  not  excuse  you  as  I  did  before." 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Charlie,  half-crestfallen, 
half-desperate.  "I  know  it's  hopeless:  I  felt  it  the 
moment  I  had  said  it.  But  I  can't  always  act  like  a 
man  of  the  world.     I  wish  I  had  never  met  you." 

"And  why?  I  like  you  very  well  when  you  are 
good.  But  this  is  already  twice  that  you  forget  to 
be  an  honest  gentleman.  Is  it  not  dishonorable  thus 
to  envy  your  friend?  If  Monsieur  Herbert  had  a  fine 
watch,  would  you  wish  to  possess  it?  No,  the  thought 
that  it  was  his  would  impeach — would  hinder  you  to 
form  such  a  wish.  Well,  you  must  look  upon  me  as 
a  watch  of  his.     You  must  not  even  think  such  things 


Love  Among  the  Artists  441 

as  you  have  just  said.  I  will  not  be  angry  with  you, 
Monsieur  Sutherland,  because  you  are  very  young, 
and  you  have  admirable  qualities.  But  you  have  done 
wrong." 

Before  he  could  reply,  she  moved  away  and  joined 
her  husband  at  the  end  of  the  garden.  Charlie,  with 
his  mouth  hanging  open,  stared  at  her  for  some 
seconds,  and  then  went  into  the  supper  room,  where 
he  incommoded  Mary  and  Mrs.  Herbert  by  lounging 
about,  occasionally  taking  a  grape  [from  the  table  or 
pouring  out  a  glass  of  wine.  At  last  he  strolled  to 
the  drawing-room,  where  he  was  found  with  a  book 
in  his  hand,  pretending  to  read,  by  the  others  when 
they  came  upstairs  some  time  after.  He  did  not 
speak  again  until  he  bade  farewell  to  the  elder  Mrs. 
Herbert,  who  departed  under  Hoskyn's  escort. 
Aurelie,  before  following  her  example,  went  to  the 
nursery  with  Mary,  to  have  a  peep  at  Master  Richard 
Hoskyn,  as  he  lay  in  his  cot. 

"He  smiles,"  said  Aurelie.  "What  a  charming 
infant!  The  bambino  never  smiles.  He  is  so  triste, 
like  Adrian!"  As  they  turned  to  leave  the  room,  she 
added,  "Poor  Adrian!  I  think  of  going  to  America  this 
year;  but  he  does  not  know.  You  will  take  care  of 
him  whilst  I  am  away,  will  you  not?" 

Mary,  seeing  that  she  was  serious,  was  puzzled  how 
to  reply.  "As  far  as  I  can,  I  will,  certainly,"  she 
said  after  some  hesitation.  Then,  laughing,  she  con- 
tinued, "It  is  rather  an  odd  commission." 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said  Aurelie,  still  serious. 
"He  has  great  esteem  for  you,  madame — greater  than 
for  no  matter  what  person  in  the  world." 

Mary  opened  her  lips  to  say,  "Except  you";    but 


442  Love  Among  the  Artists 

somehow  she  did  not  dare.  Instead,  she  remarked 
that  perhaps  Adrian  would  accompany  his  wife  to 
America.  The  trip,  she  suggested,  would  do  him 
good. 

"No,  no,"  said  Aurelie,  quickly.  "He  does  not 
breathe  freely  in  the  artists'  room  at  a  concert.  He  is 
out  of  place  there.  My  mother  will  come  with  me. 
Do  not  speak  of  it  to  him  yet :  I  know  not  whether 
they  will  guarantee  me  a  sufficient  sum.  But  even 
should  I  not  go,  I  shall  still  be  much  away.  As  I 
have  told  you,  I  leave  England  for  six  weeks  on  the 
first  of  next  month.  You  will  not  suffer  Adrian  to 
mope ;  and  you  will  speak  to  him  of  his  pictures,  about 
which  I  am  so  ^pouvantably  stupid." 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  said  Mary,  privately  thinking 
that  Aurelie    was    truly    an    unaccountable    person. 

Whilst  she  was  speaking,  they  re-entered  the  draw- 
ing-room. 

"Now,  Adrian,  I  am  ready." 

"Yes,"  said  Herbert.     "Good-night,  Mary." 

"I  think  I  heard  you  say  that  Mrs.  Herbert  is  going 
off  on  a  long  tour, ' '  said  Charlie,  coming  forward,  and 
speaking  boldly,  though  his  face  was  very  red. 

"Yes, "  said  Adrian.  "Not  a  very  long  tour  though, 
thank  goodness. '  * 

' '  Then  I  shall  not  see  her  again — at  least  not  for 
some  time.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  take  that 
post  in  the  Conolly  Company's  branch  at  Leeds;  and 
I  shall  be  off  before  Mrs.  Herbert  returns  from  the 
continent." 

"This  is  a  sudden  resolution,"  said  Mary,  in  some 
astonishment. 

"I  hope  Mrs.    Herbert  thinks  it  a  wise  one,"  said 


Love  Among  the  Artists  443 

Charlie.  "She  has  often  made  fun  of  my  attempts  at 
settling  myself  in  the  world." 

"Yes,"  said  Aur^lie,  "it  is  very  wise,  and  quite 
right.  Your  instinct  tells  you  so.  Good-night  and 
bon  voyage^  Monsieur  Charles." 

"My  instinct  tells  me  that  it  is  very  foolish  and  quite 
wrong,"  he  said,  taking  her  proJffered  hand  timidly; 
"but  I  see  nothing  else  for  it  under  the  circumstances. 
I  don't  look  forward  to  enjoying  myself.  Goodbye." 
Mary  then  went  downstairs  with  her  guests;  but  he 
turned  back  into  the  room,  and  watched  their 
departure  from  the  window. 


The  End 


f^ 


3  1205"8'Sg™f| 


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